Paraselenic
by EmpyrealFantasy
Summary: ºHPTR / HPLVº With maturity comes understanding, and Harry understands just fine. After ten years in training, Harry returns to the moment he left…with a whole new plan for himself. ºThe Light will never know what hit itº Vampire!Harry Dark!Harry
1. Paraselenic

▫ộ»_**I solemnly swear I am up to no good **_«ộ▫

Disclaimer: Let's see…my niece's name starts with a J, mine with a K, and my daughter's an R. Can I own yet? Then again, if us three wrote the story, there would be insane flying vampire monkeys (Jayna), everyone would wear Disney Princess attire (Rayvn) and there would be enough slash to fill an auditorium (me). Oh my, probably better that our version of JKR isn't the real one.

**PAIRING:** Harry Potter / Tom Riddle

**SUMMARY: **«Post OotP, ignoring HBP and soon to be ignoring DH» Harry is finished with being the Light's whipping boy, the tragic boy hero that the world pinned its hopes on. He allows himself to be taken to another realm, only to emerge after ten years in the moment he left…with a whole new plan for himself. Maturity brings about understanding, and Harry understands just fine. This time, he'll chose his side in the war. The Light will never know what hit it.

**WARNINGS: **Dark!Harry, Vampire!Harry, Powerful!Harry, Time Travel (ish), a few super sexy vampire guys, blood drinking, sadism, allusions to past HarryOC, smutty (& meaningless) Lucius/Harry, language, violence, and smut. We're running the whole gamut of fun in this pointless done-before fic. Yes, it has been done, the plotline is cliché and overused… but I like to think that I manage to make it original.

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Paraselenic // an image of the moon seen within a lunar halo_

* * *

Fifteen year old Harry Potter was finished.

Wasn't it enough to have lost his parents before he had even known them? Wasn't it enough to have been left in a household in which he's been treated as a servant? Wasn't it enough that every single year he faced near-death situations for a war he never had a choice in which to fight? He hadn't asked for this life. He hadn't done anything to deserve the praise or the trials. But he still tried his damndest to work through them and take life as it came at him.

But now... this was truly the icing on the cake. Sirius was dead. Finally an adult who had looked at him like a real person, someone important and to be cherished for more than his defeat of Voldemort. Sirius had had his flaws, of course, but he had been the first person Harry had ever had that he could look up to without getting hatred or unwarranted regard in return.

At first he had blamed himself for Sirius's death. Sometimes he still did. He could have tried harder at Occlumency or thought a little bit more before he acted. But he was a Gryffindor, and that was his way. He was brave before he was wise, but it had always worked out for the best. He knew he was not without blame in the matter.

For all he had blame, though, there was a flaw that gave him strength to foist the guilt off his shoulders. How could he have known? He was fifteen years old and hardly schooled, how in Merlin's name did they expect him to know reality from a trap? No one had thought to tell him that such things could be engineered, instead sticking him in a room with the Greasy Git and expecting him to listen to the old bat when he snarked out orders. How was he to know how much Voldemort could really do with a thoroughfare into his mind? His ignorance had cost him dearly, no matter whose fault it was. Was that their grand plan, perhaps, to leave him so alone and full of pain that he would simply slay their enemy and then die with a smile?

Dumbledore was a good man at heart, Harry knew. It wasn't intentional that he treated Harry as a weapon in his multi-decade war… he was just an old man trying to do what he thought was best. He had the best intentions of the entire world mapped out in his mind. But, good intentions or no, Harry had no qualms against taking himself out of the plans laid for him. It was his life after all, damnit, and he could choose his own path. Dumbledore could find someone else to play the savior. Harry didn't want that anymore for himself. And what did he have to lose anymore? So he would escape those plans Dumbledore and the Wizarding world had laid on his shoulders.

Starting today.

He collected the last of his belongings from the dingy bedroom that had been 'his' for the last four summers, stuffing everything into his pockets that would fit. He was thankful that his most important belongings were not kept in the trunk that he doubted he would ever see again, locked downstairs in the cupboard as it was. He supposed he could break into it and retrieve the trunk, but it would only slow him down. He wanted to be gone, and he didn't want to risk being caught before he was well away from Surrey. Harry was pleased to find that Vernon had forgotten to lock the deadbolts this morning, and he whistled jauntily as he took the stairs two at a time. He was ready -- _so ready --_ to be gone and on his way out of the life he had been forced into.

Without a word to his family, he was out the door, down the street, and away from Privet Drive forever. He wouldn't come back unless they had him bound and gagged, he promised himself that.

He made it nearly a block down Wisteria Walk before a figure stepped out of the shadows, a tall man with waist length black hair and a charming smile. The smile managed to be wholly pleasent while still retaining a sharp danger to it, the easy way he cocked his head making Harry think of a predator. Golden eyes focused on him and Harry was halted, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

"Harry Potter…" the man said in an unidentifiable accent. His smile only grew. "I've been waiting for an opportunity to speak to you."

* * *

Revised: 3/3/08

Notes: It was suggested that material in Paraselene Paralipomena could easily be merged. I agreed after being told enough times. So apologies to the 100 or so of you who had that on alert. You won't miss anything plotty, just extra stuff I'll be adding along the way. Thank you for your support.

Revised: 3/17/09

Notes: Going through chapters again to edit out crap. A year or two can change a lot of things, and the early chapters really need a brush-up on grammar and style. Using this as preperation for finishing the next chapter, luvvies.


	2. Mylläkkä

Disclaimer: I do not own.

Note: This is confusing, as many of the middle scenes were initially intended as a supplement to the story after having read many chapters… but I think that I catch you up quickly enough. Bear with the confusion, please.

Also keep in mind that my two OCs are minor in this story. They are important in their own way, but beyond this chapter they are mostly in the background. However, I feel it imperative to give them meat. Don't let their introductions turn you off. This story is about Harry (and Tom!) overall. However, these people are the biggest factors to why Harry is as he will be portrayed in this story. While I refuse to spend 10 chapters elaborating on every moment of Harry's tenure away, I would like to give a base for why he is... who he is.

That said, there's some HarryOMC in this chapter (and only this one). More poetic dribble than citrus.

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Mylläkkä // chaos and disruption_

* * *

Twenty-five year old Harry Potter groaned as he was unceremoniously pinned to the ground, a forearm digging into his throat hard enough to create little bursts of light behind his eyelids.

"I give, damnit!" he rasped out, gasping for air as the arm was finally removed. He glared up at the feline blue eyes that hovered over him, the shine to them the only thing that gave away the owner's amusement. Harry blew a chunk of his sparring partner's golden hair from his face and planted his foot in the blond's abdomen, throwing him several feet away. "Damnit," he cursed again.

The blond stood gracefully, brushing nonexistent dust off his pants. "I apologize, Mylläkkä, but you will never defeat me."

"Whatever." Harry snorted. "Considering I have a decimal point of your experience, I think I do well enough." Harry snatched up his daggers from where they had been lost in the fight, strapping them into their customary places on his person - one on the thigh in plain sight and one held with a spell at the top of his back, his long hair covering its existence. Harry couldn't help another groan as he stood, wincing when several joints popped.

Dante Pierce might have had the reputation as the most trained fighter in Sceaduwe Citadel, but he was also the most ruthless. He had trained around the world for almost a millenium picking up fighting styles of the ages, but his teaching style mostly consisted of beating the utter crap out of his student until they picked up enough to fight back. He had taken only two pupils in the last hundred years despite his highly sought-after status, and Harry knew to be grateful for the opportunity afforded to him. Nonetheless, any training session he had with Dante left him bruised, beaten, and sore for days in muscles he had forgotten he had.

"If you would simply acquiesce to a full Change, Mylläkkä, you would have much less difficulty in battle. It is your need to breathe which I am always able to use against you."

Harry glared again at the perfectly unruffled blond who was picking at his nails, looking for all the world as if he had not just kicked Harry into the ground. He cursed to himself, damning vampires and ignoring the fact that he was technically one as well.

He was not a vampire in the traditional sense, as his sparring partner had kindly pointed out. Normal vampires had no need for air and most certainly did not feel like they had been run over by a muggle lorry after an hour-long spar. Harry had imbibed the blood of the Citadel's lord, which graced him with many vampiric qualities.

He required blood, but with that came the famed capabilities for vampiric speed and strength, something he had concentrated on honing in the last years. He had been disappointed to find that such abilities were not natural with vampirism, though he had taken pride in training in the last years. Even with the changes to him, though, he managed to remain mostly living in the most literal sense. His healing was barely more than that of a human's and his need to breath did hamper his efforts to surpass his instructor, but he was rather fond of the daylight and had not wished to give it up, which all vampires had to for the first several hundred years after their Turning.

His partial Changing had been the only way he could come to Sceaduwe. Only those of Immortal blood could enter the shadowed realm that the citadel resided in, and it had been a compromise on Valerian's part for him to remain only as something of a halfbreed. Valerian had wanted to Change him on the same day he'd met him, but Harry had been very disgruntled with the idea of staying in his malnourished fifteen year old body for eternity.

Harry shook his head. "No, I am happy with how I am. This will be enough for what I have to do."

Dante let out a small sound that would have vaguely resembled a snort had Dante had the ability to do something so plebeian. "Whatever you say."

"I have to get out of here though, Valerian is waiting for me in the solarium. I leave tomorrow."

The blond cut his eyes away. "You will return?"

"Perhaps," Harry said, drawing out the word as he shifted his weight. He honestly did not know if returning would even be an option when all was said and done, let alone if he would be given the choice. He loved living in Sceaduwe, but no one could predict what would befall him in the mortal realm. Harry liked to think he would survive the coming conflict, but could be guarantee it? No. Maybe it was his stunted childhood talking, but he'd never put much stock in fairy tales. "But I will keep in touch once I catch up with this time… definitely."

As Harry exchanged one last look with Dante and left the room, he let out a quiet laugh. How had he come so far? He could hardly remember his former life anymore, and here he was about to be thrown headfirst back into it. Harry skirted around a group of dwarves, nodding to one of them with a ready smirk. His life was so monumentally different now. He would never regret his choice to follow a man he had never met off of the streets of Surrey, even if that man could have had his death in mind for all Harry had known.

Merlin, was he so glad he had.

* * *

Fifteen year old Harry Potter followed the tall man, the Marquis Valerian was what he went by, through the complicated labyrinth of hallways. Sceaduwe Citadel was nothing so impressive as Hogwarts, but it had a magic flowing through it like nothing Harry had ever experienced before. It was ominous, almost; it hung thick and heavy in the air. He wondered if it was his newly enhanced senses that made it seem so, or if it was the new reality he found himself in for the last week. He was hardly used to it.

"Come, pet, we must harvest the ingredients for the potion if you ever intend to return to the mortal realm."

"Harvest?" Harry asked with raised eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

Valerian turned back with a smirk that showed a fang. "Oh nothing, pet."

A warning chill ran up Harry's spine.

"Ah, here we are. Pet, meet Dougal Fraiser," he said imperiously, waving his hand at a tall redhead. "He is our resident Potions Master and will be harvesting the needed ingredients to be sure you can return to your life when your training here is done."

Harry eyed the man warily. Being fifteen and five foot four was hard enough as it was, but looking at the hulking man that towered over him at what Harry supposed to be nearly seven feet, he felt positively tiny. "Um, nice to meet you?"

Valerian cuffed him upside the head. "You do not say 'um' like the hoi polloi! Again!"

"Nice to meet you," Harry said again through gritted teeth. This had already become common in the last weeks, and he had already learned that it was useless to argue with the elder vampire. He knew he would lose if only be the sheer stubbornness of Valerian.

"Good, pet."

Harry hated the nickname; it made him feel like a child. Glaring, he turned to say just that when he caught the wicked glint in Valerian's eyes. He backed away a step. "Um, wh-why are you looking at me like that?"

Valerian's grin widened and he held up his hand, showing the small ceremonial blade he held in it.

Harry's eyes went round. He didn't know what the 'ingredients' were, but he's be damned if he didn't know it was going to hurt.

* * *

"_'Harry'_ is bland."

Harry had been in Sceaduwe Citadel for nearly six months now, and after being continuously referred to as 'pet' or not at all, he had finally asked why. The sixteen year old scowled. "It was the name my parents gave me."

Valerian rolled his eyes. "I do not care. Perhaps amongst the mortals it is fitting, but here it is as dull and lifeless as a corpse. You need a new name, and I shall be the one to give it to you!"

Harry swore that he twitched.

The pompous vampire paced the space in front of his desk, finger tapping his chin thoughtfully. "What language to choose from, though, hmm? Perhaps French? It is the land of my birth, after all."

Harry had visions of being called Chouchou for the rest of his life and shuddered. "No thank you."

"Italian, then, perhaps? I spent a few decades in the last century there, it is a lovely place."

Harry tilted his head. "Like what?"

Valerian flapped his hand at him. "Shush, you. No, Italian does not fit you." He circled Harry like a bird of prey, narrowed eyes scrutinizing. "You remind me of my lover from the late fifteenth century. A proud man, but caring of those he deemed worthy. And he was a revolutionist, oh goddesses was he. His wish was to change his country, to free his people…" Valerian sighed wistfully. "Such a man."

Harry shifted uncomfortably and nearly looked away. "Um, what does this have to do with naming me?"

Valerian snapped out of his reverie, grinning sheepishly. "I apologize, pet. I was reminiscing. As I was saying, you remind me much of him. And he was called Mylläkkä, Bringer of Chaos. It fits you as well, as I am sure chaos will be what you will bring upon your Wizarding world. Finland is such a beautiful place, really, I spent the longest there that I have ever spent in a country: three hundred years. I consider it my home, truly."

Harry's eyebrows rose, he hadn't expected such a dignified name from the flighty man. A slow smile spread across his face. "Mylläkkä. I like it."

* * *

"Hello Mister Peirce, Valerian said you agreed to teach me physical fighting?"

Valerian had told him that the man in front of him was known as one of the best fighters alive, having trained famous victorious fighters over the centuries. He was excited to learn the more physical fighting styles; dueling was all well and good, but he had always thought wizards were too lazy. Dante was not as tall as some, perhaps an even six feet tall, but his poise made him seem bigger somehow. Golden hair fell to his shoulder blades and brilliant blue eyes held slitted pupils. The compelling eyes were currently examining him like an especially disgusting bug. "Hn."

Harry shifted. "Well, would you like to work out a schedule?"

The blond blinked.

"Or perhaps we could start right away? I would like to learn."

Dante picked at his fingers, ignoring him now.

"Can you even speak?"

"Yes."

"Then why aren't you? Valerian said you had agreed, but if you'd rather me leave…"

Dante raised an eyebrow.

"Are you going to answer me or not?!"

"Hn."

"Arg! You are infuriating!"

"You will be in this room at four o'clock in the morning. Every morning."

Harry paused in his frustrated growling, paling slightly at the cold command in the blond's voice. "Oh. Alright then."

"Sir."

Harry gulped, taking in the utterly emotionless face of the man-- no, vampire. He had met a lot of people who were able to conceal their emotions, but never to this extent. He was used to seeing a sneer in place of a laugh or a scowl instead of raving in annoyance, but this was ridiculous. The man looked like he was made of stone, for Merlin's sake! While with many he would have made a snide comment, with this man he felt lost as to how proceed. He couldn't read him at all.

He gulped. "Y-Yes, sir."

Though the blond's face didn't twitch, Harry got the distinct impression that he was smirking.

* * *

Valerian growled at the young vampire that challenged him. Harry was breathless as he watched Valerian angry for the first time, seeing the palpable swirls of color that danced around him. Tanned skin glowed bronze, golden eyes blazed. The young vampire was obviously a fool, Harry mused, as he stood cockily through the display without cowering. Even the shorn reddish-brown strands swaying in the force of Valerian's power didn't seem to deter the young upstart.

"You've lost your touch in your advanced years, old man. Obviously new blood is needed. You're too soft, letting the werewolves into Sceaduwe and letting that human concubine of yours roam around like he rules us. Sceaduwe is for Immortals, not pale imitations!"

Valerian smirked, a menacing twist of his lips that made Harry freeze in place. "Come at me then, Childe."

Harry watched in awe as Valerian merely ducked the attack aimed at him, putting no visible effort into the move. He slid fluidly like water around, dancing around the younger. It was so unlike the usual irreverent Valerian that Harry could hardly breathe. He was the picture of what the textbooks at Hogwarts had described Vampires as, menacing and all tightly controlled power. _This_ was what Harry wanted for himself, this command of himself. He could see now why the other Immortals in the citadel deferred to Valerian so easily. It explained the way people would stare resentfully towards Harry but never raise a complaint against his presence.

Valerian flipped back away from the relentless attacks of his infuriated challenger, startling Harry out of his reverie. The tightness around his eyes was pronounced as he pulled a knife from his belt and slashed it across his palm, jaw tense. Even the challenger halted his movement with wide eyes as a drop of Valerian's blood fell to the ground. The hand was slammed his palm-down on the ground, bolts of pure magic shooting up from the tips of Valerian's fingers. A spectrum of color coalesced at Valerian's side as he straightened.

A pure black fox stood by Valerian's side with its back level with Valerian's waist, teeth bared and eyes a bloody red. Harry's mind saw Voldemort's slitted eyes mirrored in the feral fox. With a flick of Valerian's wrist, the fox leapt at the challenging vampire, sinking its teeth intohis neck with a sickening squelching sound before he could even move. Harry's stomach rolled. At seventeen years old, he had seen death before… but this was the most violent by far. There was a profound difference between the clean deaths he had seen until this point and the bloodbath Valerian had just incited.

Nonetheless, Harry couldn't help being amazed at Valerian's abilities. This was what he could become?

He was still waxing poetic on Valerian's finer points when the elder vampire dragged him into the shadows and instantly transported them back to their rooms. Valerian had put off his questions with a shake of his head and pointed Harry toward the bathroom, insisting he shower for dinner.

Food was served slowly, and Harry fairly vibrated in his seat as he waited for it to be polite to talk. Quail tonight, Harry noted with a faint frown. Too extravegant. At least the company was good, though. He and Valerian had dined together every night for the last year, and Harry was constantly amazed by how well they got along. He had never been much for socializing, but Valerian was stubborn enough to wrench him out of his shell by force. Most days, Harry was thankful for that.

Finally the servants ducked from the room, leaving Harry leaning over his plate with a grin. "Good Merlin, that was brilliant today, Val! How did you do it? Can I learn that now? You fight like a genius! You didn't even need a wand, how did you manage that?"

Valerian chuckled lightly. "It is Vampire magic, pet, Blood magic. Considered Dark and rightfully so. No, you cannot do it right now, it took me over a century to manage a summon. You will have quite some time left until then, and I was a prodigy. Expect atleast two hundred years. No, I will not teach you to fight, your body needs at least several decades of training to be able to harness the strength, speed, and agility I possess. Though you now have a much higher threshold for such things, a vampire does not automatically gain inhuman ability. They must work for it. And so you shall. However, I am glad you were impressed; I was showing off for you." He winked and picked up a knife from the table, balancing it in his hand as he picked a fork.

Harry scowled and ignored the faint heat he could feel creeping up his neck. "So... err... no cool animals?"

"No," Valerian said with an amused scoff.

"No cool shadow-movement?"

"No, pet. You've got many years to go."

Harry pouted. "Well, fuck."

Valerian leered around a laugh, cutting himself a bite. "Offering, are you pet?" He only grinned wider as Harry promptly flushed.

* * *

"Val!" a twenty year old Harry screeched, stomping through the halls. He passed a contingent of elves in the narrow hallway and ignored them as they jumped back out of the way. He had been in the citadel for five years, and by now everyone knew to avoid him when he was angry if only to avoid offending him and angering the Marquis. As a close friend and the rumored lover of the Lord of the realm, he was able to literally get away with murder. He was slowly gaining respect of his own amongst the groups, but he was still considered little more than a hanger-on to Valerian. Not that he cared much usually. But this...

Green eyes blazed, a palpable aura of fury dancing around him. Harry stormed to Valerian's office and threw the doors open. "Val!"

Valerian blinked rapidly at his charge, tilting his head and setting down his quill. "What is it, pet?"

"Hurly-burly. It bloody well means hurly-burly!"

"What _are_ you talking about, my dear?"

Harry scowled darkly. "I met with the European werewolf delegation like you asked me to. I was introduced as Mylläkkä and they _laughed at me_! You said it meant chaos!"

"It does," he paused for a long moment, eyes clouding over. "Well, it did in the fifteenth century. Why, what is wrong?"

Harry let his head fall onto the desk before lifting it and letting it fall again. "Now I look like an idiot, running around with a name that translates to 'a minor disruption'. I want a new name!"

Valerian cuffed him. "No. Mylläkkä is who you are!"

"Mylläkkä is now wimpy! I don't want to run around to people snickering at my name! I _knew_ I shouldn't have let you talk me into going by anything else!"

"It is a strong name, was known as a strong name in the past, and so long as your adversaries do not speak Finnish, it will continue being a strong name! Now stop whining, you silly boy."

Harry let his head hit the table again.

* * *

"I want to cut my hair," Harry said as he pushed the lengthening strands over his shoulder, cursing as they fell back towards his plate.

Valerian glared at him over his goblet. "No."

"Come on Val! It's totally impractical to have hair this long when fighting. It gets in the way no matter what I'm doing and I look like a bloody girl half the time."

Valerian ignored him with practiced ease, brushing his fingers through his fringe and rolling his shoulders. "Don't call me that, pet. The length of your hair is indicative of your status here, and you will grow it out to at least the small of your back. I will not have my heir running around with the shaggy mess you came here with."

"I don't want it that short again, I just want it shorter than this! Can't I just keep it at the length Dante does? It's heavy like this and gets in my face."

"I will teach you a spell to keep it out of your face, but you will learn to deal with it. I have had mine this length for five hundred years, so I know you can manage with it. Dante is not a noble and is already respected for his prowess in fighting as well as his dignity. You are a rageful childe who is cozy with several powerful figures. It would do you well to make that known that you are more than that, and not just someone who coasts along on your connections."

Harry propped his head on his hand. "You're so difficult, Val."

"And you are impudent, pet."

"Ah, but you love me anyway, don't you?"

A dramatic sigh. "But how could I not, Mylläkkä my pet?"

Harry smiled. Though he supposed they were not in love with one another, they each held much affection and a healthy dose of lust between them. He knew their arrangement was temporary, but he truly cared for Valerian. He was unlike anyone Harry had ever met… to manage a mix between playful, arrogant, and totally madcap was extraordinary. At twenty two, what more could he ask for?

"So I can't cut it off?"

A glare was his only response.

* * *

By twenty three, Harry thought that he had perhaps found happiness for the first time in his life, and he wouldn't give it up for anything short of the world. And now, at twenty five, he would be expected to follow through on that. The world was exactly what was expected of him, wasn't it? Harry shook himself from his reverie, speeding up his steps. No matter how sentimental he became at the last moment, he would be returning to 1995 in only a few hours. It had been the plan from the beginning, and if he backed out now his pride would cease to exist. He couldn't let his attachments hold him back.

When Harry entered the room, Valerian grinned in greeting with shining eyes, causing a small smile to curve on Harry's lips unwillingly. Valerian flipped his hair over his shoulder and began standing. "Ah, Mylläkkä, my pet. I was worried you had forgotten me."

"You know better. Dante decided I had been slacking in my training… and proceeded to kick my arse in consequence."

Valerian threw him a rakish grin as he made his way towards him, circling Harry with unconcealed amusement. "I see nothing wrong with you. No bleeding wounds, no obvious deformities… much better than even a year ago, pet."

Harry gave him a genuine smile. "I just hope it will be enough."

Golden eyes closed off and Valerian sighed, motioning to the couch and taking a seat himself. After procuring some brandy for both himself and his protégé, Valerian stared into his glass and swirled it. "You will leave, then?"

"You know I have to."

A bitter laugh, unfamiliar and out of character. "Ah, yes. Savior of the Wizarding world and all that, no?"

"Ah, so I am." Harry sipped his drink, throat constricting from the strength of the aged alcohol. "But just who will I be saving?"

Harry knew he was no longer the Light scion he had been tempered to be, and he was completely prepared to take the Wizarding world by storm. A vampire by choice with an affinity for obscure Dark spells and a lust for a challenge, Harry was far from the 'Gryffindor Golden Boy' he had once been. He was no longer blinded by the optimism of his youth, nor was he afraid of what anyone would think of him; the world could go fuck itself so far as he was concerned. The only reason he was even bothering to return to the mortal realm was because of a damned prophecy and his doubly-damned pride. And beyond that, he knew without a doubt that Dumbledore had to be stopped.

Oh, he still couldn't really see the old man as _evil_, per se. He was morally good and righteous and had wonderful plans for wizards and witches everywhere… but that was the problem. They were _his_ plans and _his_ dictation of right and wrong, and no one else was allowed to have their own definitions. A different opinion meant you were Dark, which in the minds of Dumbledore and his party was equated with evil immediately.

His plans, doubtlessly well-intentioned, took no consideration to what they might inflict upon others in the end. Why had Sirius been allowed to be imprisoned without a trial? Dumbledore had been on the Wizengamut for decades, surely he could have demanded a truth spell of some kind be placed on the man? Veritaserum had not yet been invented at the time and even so was easily subverted, but there were still plenty of ways to ascertain if a person was lying. There was no need to get the story from him and check the truth of it, only to ask yes or no questions. Easy. Yet it had not been done.

Voldemort was a madman, that much was true. He was quick tempered and easily antagonized, megalomaniacal and cruel. Even ignoring all that, Harry was more than wary to join forces with his parents' murderer. What would they think of him now? A vampire, setting out to destroy the man they had followed, about to join forces with their murderer. But Harry knew he stood no chance alone. He was a no one in the Wizarding world as he was now, and beyond that he would be feared as a vampire and shunned as the former child hero of the Light who had 'abandoned' them. He needed support and the only place to get that was through Voldemort, no matter the consequences.

Beyond all that, though, there was the simple fact that he agreed with Voldemort's philosophies more than Dumbledore's. There was a lot there that needed work, but wizards and witches _did_ need to stop procreating with muggles; it would end up leading to the death of magic. It was like allowing a prized purebred dog to run around with mutts... in a few generations, the pure blood would be gone, and with enough of that the race would die out. However, Voldemort's logic was flawed in his supposition that this had to mean the eradication of muggleborns. That was foolish and only stamped all the new blood from their race. But he digressed.

Dumbledore's path would end up ruining the Wizarding World… and Harry intended to be sure that wouldn't happen. It seemed his oft-mentioned hero complex and Gryffindor loyalty was unable to be smothered.

He sighed and met golden eyes. "You still won't come with me, then?"

"You know better," Valerian said softly. "I must watch things here. You are my successor; it is not as if I could leave this place in your hands if I was following you. And if I leave for any period of time, the upstarts will mob together and attempt to take over. We cannot have that, the safety of too many rests on us."

"You're right, I know you are. But..." Harry sighed, shifting his eyes to the floor. "There are so many unknowns in this. As far as I know, I could be dead long before I get back to this time--"

Valerian scowled. "Do you think I would allow you to go back and do this mission of yours if you were dead in this time? No."

"I know, I know. You know all, you are omnipotent, woo..." Harry wiggled his fingers and gave Valerian a sarcastic grin.

He was surprised to see Valerian's face stay in its scowl, brows drawn tightly together. "I am far from omnipotent, pet, and I thought I had taught you that by now. In many ways, you have far more power than I do. I am bound by the laws of my position. The Fates only grant me such overbearing power so long as I abide their law, so my hands remain tied when I most wish to move them. They will not allow me to share what I know of the outside world, nor can I use my power to save any they deem should die. I cannot meddle with the affairs of mortals if it would alter their weave. I am still under heavy watch for having taken you away, as you know. They were angered with me for my interference. I fear another such instance would cause me to be stripped of my position, and I cannot fathom the turmoil that would cause. Do you not understand, Harry?"

Valerian never called him Harry, and that he had now sent a chill down Harry's spine. He turned his eyes up to the garden window, artificial sunlight soaking into him as his cocky smile melted away. "I know that Val, really I do. But still, we can't _know_ how things will turn out..."

"That we cannot. Even I could not hope to. But even though discussion of Mortal happenings is forbidden here, I am well aware of everything that happens outside, in the mortal realm as well as others. I would not send you to die, Fates be damned."

Harry kept his eyes on the window and put his hand over Valerian's, linking their fingers. "Even you can't know the future, Val. The past perhaps, the present of course, but the future is anyone's game."

"It is good, then, that you plan to travel to the past, isn't it?" Valerian stood and met Harry's eyes, smirk twisting his lips as he fell into a familiar stance of overbearing annoyance. "Come, let's be off to dinner. I must give you a wonderful last meal to remember us all by."

"Alright, sounds good." Harry stood with a smile overtaking him despite his brooding. "Thanks, Val."

Valerian paused, turning back and raising his eyebrow. "First you really must shower; you smell like a dead animal."

Harry promptly flipped him off.

* * *

Harry's hands tightened in black hair, a gasp escaping his throat. He would miss this, this strange connection the two of them shared. Every brush of lips ignited fires under his skin, every sure stroke of scarred hands sent chills.

Golden eyes glowed amber in the moonlight, their golden luster highlighted with different angles. Harry arched languidly against the familiar touch, rising up to let his teeth scrape against the bare shoulder before him. This was their last night together after seven years in their strange relationship; somewhere, deep inside of him, Harry knew that he would not be returning. And with every brush of skin against his, every whispered endearment in a dozen languages, Harry knew that Valerian knew it too. Someday he would try to come back, but that would likely be many, many years in the future.

Valerian and he had never had a normal relationship, from their unconventional beginning through to the present. They were complements to one another in many ways, able to fulfill parts of the other left untouched prior. They had an intimacy between them for as long as Harry could remember, from the very moment they met. It had been strange to the other inhabitants of the fortress, as Valerian was not known to take close companions. Lovers, yes, friends even… but no one had ever been allowed so constantly near as Harry.

Beginning with Valerian deciding to liberate of him of his virginity sometime after his seventeenth birthday and continuing whenever the mood struck one of them, their relationship had not been one of love. The sparks between them were an inferno, burning through them harshly before leaving them in a quiet contentment found between the closest of friends. If they were to try to make it into more than it was it would consume them, burn them to a crisp.

Chilled in the night air, goosebumps rose across Harry's skin behind lightly trailing fingertips. His breath came in gasps as he was filled to breaking, muscles clenching as he sought to push himself closer yet to Valerian. He'd often wondered why neither of them could bring themselves to call what they had a relationship, why they didn't seem to ever fall in love. Why it never deepened to something more. He wondered if years in the future he would come back, finally agree to a full Change and stay beside the regal man in this strange distortion of a relationship they had. He would be happy, he thought. Happy enough.

But he wanted so much more in his life. Harry knew there was more out there. Something like a fire that never faded to embers, never burned so intensely that it left the participants turned to ash.

Climax came swiftly, pouncing on Harry without warning. His hands yanked his lover down against him, fingernails raking across his shoulders. He could feel Valerian shuddering against him, and Harry's tightly clenched ankles loosened around his waist.

Harry didn't know what the future held, but it didn't matter. He had that moment to live in, staring into golden eyes.

* * *

If there was one thing that had become clear to Harry in his decade-long tenure in the Sceaduwe Citadel, it was that there was a huge difference between living and surviving.

Survival was simply existence. It was the state of one's body not ceasing to function, of their mind being clear. It was managing to live through another sunset and nothing more.

Living, on the other hand… Harry longed to truly live. The last ten years had been the closest to the meaning of 'living' that he had ever experienced, and he craved more of it. The prospect of actually enjoying existence was an ideal Harry coveted, and something he knew he had yet to fully experience. He nearly pitied himself for having to go back in time again.

He sighed and put a hand into his pocket, fingering the vials within it. The potions Valerian commissioned from Dougal Fraiser laid in small unbreakable vials containing the finished product created all those years ago when he'd arrived at Sceaduwe. Once they'd taken a rather disturbing amount of his blood and a section of flesh, they had explained how the potion would work. With only a drop on his tongue of the murky black potion, aptly named 'Regression', he could appear as the age he was when the ingredients had been harvested. A second potion, fluorescent orange and named simply 'Reversion', would put him back to his natural state. The catch was that the Regression potion only lasted a week at a time, and he had to keep track of when he used it. He had enough for perhaps hundred transformations each way, and hoped he would not be forced to use it that often. He'd done a test of it already, and the transformations _hurt_.

Now he stood in the shadows of Knockturn Alley, hood drawn to hide his features as he awaited any known Death Eater to cross his path. He needed an easy ticket to Voldemort, and this had seemed the best course of action. Harry was not worried about being recognized in this form; no one expected Harry Potter to be a five foot ten adult with nearly waist length hair and inhumanly bright eyes. Even someone who knew him would be hard pressed to recognize him like this, and the Wizarding public at large only ever recognized his scar, which had faded without aggravation and was covered by the long fringe he had flattened to obscure half his face.

He was, instead, weary of anyone recognizing him for _what_ he was, which was sure to cause him problems no matter what Alley he was in. Vampires generally kept to themselves and wizards harbored an innate fear of them, born from a denial of not being at the top of the food chain. Simple human nature.

He had twenty four hours until the moment his younger self had left Privet Drive, and it was beginning to look like he would need every moment of it. He had already been reclining against he same decrepit wall for nearly an hour, no luck yet in finding a Death Eater. Had they all gone into hiding after the Department of Mysteries? He bloody well hoped not! With a sigh Harry made himself comfortable; this might take a while.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy was Not Happy, capitalized. His brush with Azkaban had left him shaken, his reputation in tatters, and his assets frozen. How _dare_ that Potter brat out him like that? If it weren't for his connections in the ministry, he would still be in some Merlin forsaken cell wallowing in his own filth! It was inhumane and absolutely disgusting, and of the many things Malfoys did not do, disgusting was one of the first on the list.

He walked regally beside his son as they wandered Diagon Alley, his head held high despite the obvious stares and whispers. He was shunned from high society now but damn if he would show it. These people were but bugs beneath his boots, and he would not give them the satisfaction of showing his fall from grace. Let them talk; when the Dark Lord ruled them they would cower at his feet.

He left Draco at Madam Malkin's to get measured for his new set of robes, intent on visiting Borgin in the interim. The rotund shop owner was looking after his Darker objects for the coming months, keeping them from the Ministry's prying eyes. There was a particular tome he needed from his own collection for a task set by his master, and no matter how Not Happy Lucius was at the moment, he preferred it to be himself than the Dark Lord.

When Voldemort was Not Happy, the world felt his wrath.

He pulled up the hood of his cloak as he entered the dark walkway connecting Diagon and Knockturn Alleys, still keeping his inner monologue and ignoring the rest of the world. He never felt the eyes that followed his every move, didn't feel the instincts of prey under the eye of a predator. In fact, Lucius had no time to react at all when he was pinned to a wall, his wrists above his head and a shorter body pressed against him. The face of his assailant was hidden as he purred in Lucius's ear, a laugh suffusing his voice. "Well hello, Lucius. Forgive me my terrible manners, but you came along and I need an audience with your master. Now."

Lucius sneered in the general direction of the person that held him, coming up with his face pressed into long black hair. "As if I would obey your command simply because you assaulted me? Unhand me, you filthy cretin."

A low chuckle was his response, the hot breath ticking his ear and making it very difficult not to shiver. "Ah, but Lucius… you wouldn't want anything to happen to your pretty little heir, now would you? I think it is in your best interests to take me to the Dark Lord, and quickly… before I lose my patience with your posturing."

Lucius did shiver this time, but it was not from any form of pleasure. To threaten him was something he could worm his way out of… but his son was the future of the Malfoy name, and he could not have anything unpleasant befall him. And even more than that, Draco was _his son_, and he would be damned if he'd let anything happen to him. Though self-preservation was foremost on any Slytherin's mind, as a father his son always came first. Despite that, though, the Dark Lord would surely have his head. His sneer became a black glower. "I will see you dead for this."

"Ah," the mysterious man said in a low voice, pulling slightly away and locking unnaturally bright green eyes with mercurial silver. "We shall see about that, hmm?"

Lucius set his jaw and Apparated them both to Riddle Manor.

* * *

Harry was pleased. Not only had he finally found a Death Eater to take him to Voldemort, but said Death Eater had been Lucius Malfoy. Harry pushed back his curiosity over how Lucius had managed to evade Azkaban, amused with making Lucius squirm. He really couldn't stand the prat -- he thought far too highly of himself and his ideals were warped into obscurity -- but damn if he wasn't pretty. And Harry always thoroughly enjoyed toying with pretty things.

But now he had business to deal with, so Harry shot a silent _Petrificus Totalus_ at the pretty Lucius to keep him in place before yanking up his cloak's hood and moving into the Manor proper. He knew better than to believe the blond would not have retaliated against his rather unbecoming tactics to gain entry to the Dark Lord's base of operations, but he hadn't had any other choice in the matter. Killing his Death Eaters probably wasn't a good way into Voldemort's good graces, so this would have to do.

Harry rubbed at his forehead before he realized what what he was doing, responding to the tingling itch that had started up. Being a vampire had seemed to negate the connection, sealing him away from any visions or pain, but it seemed that they were still linked however faintly. He let the sensation lead him, down one dark hallway and then another, past a room teeming with Death Eaters in full regalia. Some rushed papers from one hall to another, others stood in groups and chatted as if it were some social event, being at the Dark Lord's place of events. Just what was the cumulative intelligence quotient of this group? Harry sighed to himself, skirting along the edge of the room towards the previous bane of existence. Here he was just another black robed figure, and he never even got a second glance.

He wasn't sure how he was going to do this, really. On one hand, he could reveal himself for who he was. He had all sorts of bad premonitions about that, seeing Voldemort cackling as he pushed Harry forward like a trophy. His only other choice was to offer himself as a powerful vampire seeking an alliance. However, as much as he was loathe to be treated as a prize, he knew no one short of Harry Potter himself would would have a chance at an equal partnership. Harry would be damned if he would ever kneel to anyone. Even as he approached the ornate oaken doors, he still had no real decision in mind. He was very bad at planning and preferred action to it, anyway.

It was a Gryffindor thing.

Voldemort's study was spacious and light, the sun streaming in the wide windows that spanned one side of the room. It was much different than the dank little hole Harry had expected. What better for a snake, after all? But this wasn't what he would have expected, nice though it was. It was very much a surprise.

Not a surprise, however, was the sickly pale, reptilian Voldemort who sat behind his desk, irritably hacking away at papers with his quill. Harry shivered just a little, his face in a moue of distaste. Nearly flat nose and waxen skin, pale skin deeply contrasted by his black robes. He made a frightening picture, hunched and snarling, the object of so many nightmares of Harry's life. And he was _icky_. However, Harry was not the child he had been, and he confident that he could at least hold off the powerful Dark Lord. A decade of intensive training by some of the best fighters and dualists in the Immortal realms had seen to that.

Hood still drawn, Harry was hardly a step into the room when he had thirteen and a half inches of yew trained on him, fiery crimson eyes boring into him. It almost provoked another shiver. "You impudent fool, how dare you enter without knocking?"

"Now, now, Tom, no need to be so rude," Harry said easily, slipping into his usual demeanor and pushing back his childish thoughts.

Voldemort bristled, his sneer transforming into a snarl. "Who are you?"

Harry drew down his hood and grinned at the glaring Dark Lord, ignoring the uncomfortable tingling the man's anger gave his scar. "Why not call me Mylläkkä for now, Mister Riddle?"

"_Crucio_!"

Harry stepped out of the spells range just before it hit him. "Now that was rude. Where are your manners? Do you treat all your prospective allies as such?"

Voldemort glowered, fingers tight around his wand. "Just what do you want here?"

"An alliance," Harry said with a purr, walking toward Voldemort's desk. "You want to rule the Wizarding world, right? I can help you achieve that. You just need to get your priorities in order, is all."

"My priorities are fine, you impudent little wretch."

"Are they?" Harry fell back into a high-backed chair across from the desk, kicking his legs over the arm and propping up his head on a hand. "Since your resurrection, your plans have included little other than to defeat one Harry Potter. You are obsessed with the boy, with his defeat. You let it blind you to all other goals."

"You're a fool to come in here thinking to--"

Harry cut off Voldemort's retort as he continued, green eyes meeting crimson with a smirk. "_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…"_

Voldemort was furious now, Harry knew. Crimson eyes were ignited with rage, and Harry wondered for a minuscule moment if looks really could kill. But this was important, he couldn't be inane. This was the crux of what he brought to the table, and Voldemort was damned well going to hear him out. He stood from his chair, wand out and inches from Harry's face. "How do you know the prophecy?!"

Harry swallowed whatever fear he hadn't been able to train himself not to feel, continuing without breaking eye contact. "_And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born as the seventh month dies._"

Voldemort had stopped trying to retort, wand arm dropping and eyes narrowing. He looked toward the back wall for long minutes, and Harry could only assume he was processing the contents of the prophecy. He could understand the shock; he remembered his own. Harry stayed silent, amusing himself by watching the play of emotions over Voldemort's face. It was strange to see such relatively normal expressions on his face, thoughtful and contemplative. Voldemore sat back again with the air of someone very tired, running a thin-fingered hand over his face."Mylläkkä you said your name was? Only the old man knows the prophecy, how did you get it?"

Harry hummed in the back of his throat. "I'll get to that. Curiosity begs me to asks something, though. Assuming the prophecy I just told you is the truth, what will you do with your new information?"

"Kill the boy, of course. Did you think that informing me that the boy is the only one who could kill me would keep me from plotting to kill the brat?" Voldemort was sneering again, a much more familiar expression.

Harry feigned nonchalance. "Well, at least you are thinking more deeply into its meaning than I thought you would. I thought you might be like Dumbledore and immediately see it as one of you had to die."

Voldemort shook his head and leaned back in his chair. "No, the wording is tricky but leaves plenty of loop holes. The use of 'survive' and 'live' is telling. I just must kill the boy before I can find a true semblance of life."

Harry nearly gave a true smile at that, swinging his legs around to sit up. "You're far less insane than I was led to believe you were. You are almost correct."

A dangerous glower was his immediate response. "What exactly do you think you mean by '_almost_'?"

Harry leaned forward, sitting up in his seat now. "As you have assumed, living and surviving are very different things. But just because the boy has the _power_ to defeat you, why kill him off? Would it not be smarter for your reign to have him as your equal and work together to learn to 'live'? If he is powerful enough to defeat you, surely he would be an asset."

"The brat would never see past Dumbledore's machinations. He is far too enamored by the Light."

Harry smirked, "Are you so sure, Tom? Say that he had wizened up…"

Voldemort's eyes narrowed now, and Harry was pleased to feel the figurative light bulb appear, "Just who are you?"

"I knew the genius Tom Marvolo Riddle would put the pieces together," Harry said with a genuine smile, "It's surprisingly good to see you again, Tom. It's been a while… for me at least."

* * *

Revised: 3/17/09 -- More clean up. Third edit. Yeowch. You'd figure that after enough pass-throughs this would not need it anymore... -__-


	3. Modus Vivendi

Disclaimer: I do not own.

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Modus Vivendi // a compromise or arrangement that allows conflicting people, groups, or ideas to coexist_

* * *

Harry glowered at Voldemort as he _finally_ stopped shooting off curses at him, Harry's own secondary wand still pointing towards him. Upon putting the pieces of Harry's identity together, Harry had reassessed his previous thoughts of Voldemort being somewhat reasonable when he had immediately began firing several very nasty Dark curses at him in succession. Initially, Harry had just dodged and put up shields, but after ten minutes of being fired at like he had a bullseye painted on his forehead (which, all technicalities taken into consideration, he supposed he did… but that was beside the point), he had finally gotten fed up.

That had actually been what had stopped the impromptu duel, surprisingly.

He had retaliated with one of his favorite hexes, an obscure spell that would painfully turn a person's skin inside-out without actually killing them, reattaching said skin on, just with the nerves and capillaries exposed. It left the person looking really quite gruesome.

"Where did you learn that spell? The only documented record of it is in one of Le Fey's diaries…"

Harry raised an eyebrow at the expression on Voldemort's face. It was eager and almost excited, and Harry couldn't help but feel an answering excitement. _Finally_, someone who could appreciate the obscurities of some of his favorite spellworks. Most immortals had no use for Wizard magic, so he hadn't had a single person beyond Dante to discuss such things with. "Yes, yes, it's in the _Fata Morgana_, page four hundred…"

"And seventeen, yes!" Voldemort, despite the deformities of his form, looked somehow young with a childish smile on his face, clearly fascinated that someone else had read the rare tome. "Did you see the entrail-rearranging spell on six hundred and seventy two?"

Harry nodded emphatically, lowering his wand and returning the grin. "It's a bit risky to use, though, since the slightest mispronunciation could wind up castrating you. Not a chance I'm willing to take, thank you. Have you read _Horrible, Hostile Hexes _by Merwyn the Malicious(1)?"

"There is still a copy of that? Weren't most of his works lost after his death?"

"I was gifted one of the last remaining copies for my twentieth birthday… you could borrow it if you'd like."

At the same moment, both wizards seem to realize how terribly out of character they had been acting and settled down, taking their original seats on either side of Voldemort's desk, disarray of the office notwithstanding. Harry kicked away a large piece of an end table from the arm of his chair, settling comfortably across it once more. Voldemort sighed and ran his hand over his bald head, eyeing Harry critically. "I must say, your knowledge of the Dark arts lends your story credence."

"It's been ten years for me, Tom. I've been trained in combat, dueling, and magics forgotten by humans. I finally woke up after the Department of Mysteries fiasco and saw how little control I had over my own life. I made a change. I finally feel ready to confront my destiny… and I believe that can be best accomplished if you and I work together." Harry tucked a stay wisp of black hair behind his ear before throwing Voldemort a grin. "And I'll let you borrow the book."

Voldemort pursed his lipless mouth, crimson eyes searching the man in front of him for long moments in silence before he bowed his head just the barest bit. "It shall be done, Potter. I daresay you've grown acceptably Slytherin in your time away."

Harry merely grinned, "Ah, but Tom… I've always had it in me."

Crimson eyes rolled and Voldemort steepled his fingers. "Why do you insist on referring to me by that plebian name? I despise it, you know."

"Because regardless of your wishes, it is your name. If you really insist, I will call you Voldemort, but I would prefer Tom."

"It doesn't matter," he said with a wave of his hand. "A name is just a name. However, if you call me that in front of my Death Eaters, I will _Crucio_ you out of existence. Now, what are these grand plans of yours? It must be something magnificent to have brought you all the way here."

"Hogwarts," Harry stated simply. "No offense meant of course, but you've not been very enterprising in the years since your rebirth. The ministry and Hogwarts are the two most important institutions in the British magical world, and if we can get them… we can have Britain."

Voldemort nodded slowly. "I admit my priorities may have seemed rather single-minded, but being left without a body for over a decade can leave quite a grudge," he said dryly, lacing his fingers and propping his chin on them. "However, I have been slowly placing my men and women within the ministry, seeding my people into the infrastructure. It did stunt my plans, however, when you managed to out Lucius last month."

Harry smirked before laughing suddenly. "Oh my, Lucius isn't going to be happy… I left him petrified at the entrance."

"You… petrified Lucius?"

"Well, I needed to get here _today_, so I couldn't wait and find a simple way to get to you. So, I accosted our pretty Mr. Malfoy in Knockturn Alley and asked him as nicely as I am capable for him to bring me here… needless to say, he wasn't happy with me, and I had to petrify him before he retaliated."

Voldemort raised one brow. "I would rather you not attack my followers, Potter."

"You _can_ call me Harry, you know," he retorted, the corner of his lip twitching. "And I am not going to run around assaulting your Death Eaters now that we have an agreement. You are aware that I will not wear your mark or bow to you, aren't you?"

The brow lowered and Voldemort's jaw set. "I thought as much… you and your Gryffindor stupidity. While I must admit that this displeases me greatly, I think forcing you or killing you would only work against me in the end. Am I correct, Little Gryffindor?"

"Ah, but this is my Slytherin pride talking, not my admittedly vast Gryffindor side. I refuse to submit to anyone."

Voldemort's lipless mouth curved in a wicked smirk. "That was rather suggestive. Proving you wrong would be entertaining."

"Ah, now _that_ is a different story all together," Harry said with a small chuckle. "But, no offense meant Tom, but you're not really my type. Scaly isn't attractive."

Voldemort didn't seem to take offense, merely waving his hand and his grin fading. "How do you plan to take Hogwarts?"

"From the inside, of course."

Voldemort waited for elaboration with a pointed look.

Harry leaned forward, propping his elbows on Voldemort's desk. "I will return to my relatives' home right after I left it and return to Hogwarts for my sixth year with the help of the Reversion and Regression potions. I will play the part of Dumbledore's Golden Boy and plan my assault from the interior, and I will take Dumbledore down by the end of the year."

"When will you be missed? "

"I need to return to my relative's house by noon tomorrow."

"That's bothersome. You will need to be introduced to my Death Eaters, and we still have much planning to do. I would like to hear your ideas for the future."

"That is something we really must discuss, Tom. Your pointless killings will only pull the fight in the Light's favor. While I agree that a magical being with a muggle dilutes our bloodlines and increases the existence of squibs, why do you hold such animosity towards muggleborns? You should know I can't condone that."

Crimson eyes narrowed. "What do you think the muggles would do if they found out about us? We would become targets for them, because we are different and a threat. We cannot risk exposure."

"And making yourself known with suspicious deaths across the English countryside is staying hidden?" said Harry. "Yes, the muggles would persecute us, that is a given. Their thoughts have changed little since the days of the Salem Witch Trials, and I don't doubt how they would react to learning magic was real. But Tom, you should know better than most the power of muggle denial. They would not accept its existence without proof… and how will they get that proof?"

"It is not the absence or presence of proof that is the problem. It is the fools in the Light who think that muggles can be their friends that are the problem! With idiots like that running around, we'll be exposed within a few years and have to fight a war that the muggles know they are participating in. I prefer extermination," Voldemort said, voice tight.

"We have advanced since the seventeenth century, and they cannot find us if we do not wish to be found. We have muggle repelling charms that require special spells to circumvent that only certain people know… they cannot find us, Tom. Even if every muggleborn suddenly decided to reveal our existence, they would not be able to find us. They would have to drop a bomb on their own city to rid themselves of us."

Voldemort tipped his head in concession. "Be that as it may, muggleborns dilute the bloodlines as much as muggles do. It will mean the end of the Wizarding world."

"How do they dilute it? A wizard is a wizard, Tom. What is better, two magical people bearing children, or purebloods continuing only to breed amongst themselves and interbreeding so badly that children begin to have deformities? Or worse yet, the ostracized purebloods like the Weasleys dipping into the muggle gene pool and weakening magic to nonexistence?"

Voldemort leaned back in his chair and hummed thoughtfully, taking a long time to formulate his answer. Harry let him, watching the expressions cross the reptilian face. The silence was surprisingly comfortable, and Harry was quite amazed at how easily he was relaxing around what had once been his greatest enemy. He didn't have the time to contemplate it much, though, as Voldemort shrugged. "I suppose I can concede that point, but you know the Death Eaters will not be happy."

"Am I supposed to care? They are your subordinates, no? They will obey or you can throw around your Cruciatus until they do as you say. Popular opinion has rarely influenced you."

"I suppose you are correct," Voldemort said with an amused smile. "How will we meet once you are in Hogwarts? Surely your absence would be noted."

"It would normally, but so long as I do not _often _disappear at night, I can manage to get away."

"Severus could help with that."

"No," Harry said quickly, perhaps a bit too much.

"And why not? He is my only marked Death Eater within Hogwarts, surely you could use the assistance."

"I…" Harry paused, annoyed at himself. Despite his dislike for the snarky git, he didn't want to get him killed. After all, there was no _real_ proof that the Potions Master was on Dumbledore's side. He could be playing the Light just as easily as he could be playing the Dark. "I am not in the habit of trusting double agents. He spies for you against the Light, he spies for Dumbledore against the Dark. It is difficult to know what he truly believes. I don't want him knowing my identity."

Voldemort looked skeptical but nodded anyway. "Fine. But when you are certain of his leanings you will either take him out or let him in, yes?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. If he was a liability I would not hesitate to make him a meal," Harry said with a smirk that barely exposed one fang.

Spider-like fingers tapped a tattoo on the desk. "This brings up another question. How are you going to hide your Vampirism within Hogwarts? Even with both the Regression and Reversion potions, your fangs and blood cravings will not be affected."

Harry nodded. "I will make do. Since my godfather's death was only a month ago as far as anyone near to me is concerned, it will not seem suspicious that I do not smile widely enough to reveal my teeth or if I take long walks alone."

Voldemort tipped his head. "His death was unfortunate; it was not intended. Bellatrix would have used Avada Kedavra had she wished him dead. I did not wish to give you any reason to be more daring in your vendetta."

"I refuse to forgive her for her mistake, but I do not blame anyone for it. I have had many years to grieve, and though I miss him… I do not think he would accept me as I am now. It is… for the best." Harry shook his head and quirked a forced smile. "So, world conquest?"

"Don't be daft." Voldemort's eyes rolled skyward.

"Well, I really don't understand what it is you're going for. I understand taking out your opposition and overtaking the ministry… but what in the hell is your ultimate goal?"

"To be unopposed. To be known for my strength and to be regarded as the icon I should be…"

"Your ego is smothering me, Tom."

The snake-like man glared before sitting back in his chair, eyes up towards the ceiling. "The structure of Britain is disturbing. It is corrupt and out of control."

"So, instead, you will build it in your vision?"

"Precisely. I will make sure the muggles never have the chance to stand against us, make sure that wizards will never die out. Our blood will stay strong and thus we shall prevail in the end, a stronger race. Under my guidance, Wizards will become great once more…"

"Your head is swelling again, Tom."

"Potter, I will spell you into oblivion if you don't shut the hell up."

Harry shrugged a shoulder and smirked. "I'm only taking the piss out of you, Tom. So, then… let's talk war. Because you know that is what it will be?"

"Just because you're a buffoon doesn't mean I am. I will call in my Death Eaters in an hour. Until then, we plan."

* * *

Harry pulled the hood of his cloak forward to shadow his face once more as he stood behind Voldemort; the man was waiting on Wormtail to arrive so he could call the rest of his Death Eaters. They had managed to make a lot of plans with compromises on both their parts, and Harry was shocked to find that he actually worked well with Tom Riddle. Like the older man had said all those years ago in the Chamber of Secrets: they really were a lot alike. They had much in common now that Harry was not blind to the world around him, and their personalities meshed together pleasantly. For the first time in years Harry found someone other than Valerian that he enjoyed talking and joking with, feeling strangely at ease in the company of his parents' killer. No, he wouldn't be hugging the man and declaring his love for him anytime soon, but he had found real intelligent common ground with Voldemort.

As Pettigrew slunk into the long hall, Harry couldn't hold back a feral growl from escaping his throat. Voldemort raised an eyebrow toward him and Harry hissed quietly, not letting Pettigrew hear as he approached. _//I want this one dead, Tom. I can concede Bellatrix, but I _will_ kill this one.//_

Voldemort cut crimson eyes toward barely exposed green. _//Fine. But can it wait until after you have fulfilled your plans? He is useful to me.//_

Harry only nodded and bowed his head again, purposely not looking in the rat's direction to quell the violent urges he evoked in him. Voldemort's voice once again took on it's hissing, raspy quality as he ordered Pettigrew to his knees so he could activate the Dark Mark, making Harry smirk maliciously as whimpers left the traitor's throat.

The results were nearly instantaneous. Robed and masked figures began appearing in the hall, immediately kneeling in supplication. Voldemort's eyes flickered indolently across his followers, cowing them as they peeked curiously at the figure to Voldemort's left. Harry stood still but watched Voldemort through his lashes as the Dark Lord looked over those who arrived. It was nearly fifteen minutes before Voldemort looked satisfied with the turnout, glancing around at three dozen faceless Death Eaters.

"We have gained a new ally," he hissed loudly enough for them to hear, his hand waving toward where Harry stood. Harry resisted the urge to titter at the overly drawn out hisses that were heard even in a sentence without any S's. "He is powerful and is to be treated with the same respect you give me. I will not stop him from killing you if you have such a limited mental capacity as to challenge him. He goes by Mylläkkä, and with him, we shall turn the tides of this war! Soon we shall take both Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic away from the simpering fools of the Light."

Harry stepped forward and pushed his hood back from his face, revealing himself to the assembled minions. He very nearly grinned as he saw one form stiffen painfully, a few wisps of white-blond hair giving away its owner's identity. Lucius was obviously displeased, and Harry looked forward to rubbing his snooty, patrician nose in it.

Harry inclined his head to the group and stepped back again, not needing to say anything to the group. Voldemort listened to reports from his members and gave new tasks, and Harry just watched silently over the proceedings. It was interesting, the difference between the man he had spent the afternoon bargaining with and the man who now was purposely making his followers shrink away in fear of him. It was nearly comical. He ignored the periodic dark looks that Lucius Malfoy was sending him along with the rageful ones from Bellatrix Lestrange. The woman was not pleased with someone being closer to her Lord in favor than she. It didn't bother Harry, so long as the foolish witch didn't try to stand against him.

Harry pulled himself back to attention as Voldemort's voice called out to Snape, beginning a plan they had decided on to discover the man's true allegiance. "Severus, come here. The rest of you may go."

As the loud cracks of apparition filled the room, Harry lowered himself to sit on the edge of the dais, sprawling back with his arms holding him up. He sent an amused look to Voldemort, who snorted at Harry's lack of dignity. The younger man shrugged and grinned, flicking his eyes towards Snape as he cautiously approached the platform and knelt.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"This year we will be setting our sights on Hogwarts. You will eventually play an intricate role in this, but for now I will just remind you to get as much information as possible. And tell the old man nothing of our plans."

"Yes, my lord," Severus said, bowing until his mask nearly touched the ground.

"You may go."

As Severus stood, Harry couldn't help a small chuckle from escaping him. "Tom, you're too good at the cowing-into-submission thing. Do you give lessons? Because I would really have fun with that talent."

Voldemort scowled. "What did I tell you about calling me that infernal name in front of others, brat?"

"Ah, it's just Snape. No harm, really."

Crimson eyes rolled, and Harry was pleased to see a lack of any real anger in Voldemort's eyes. "I should really hex you."

"Yes, you probably should. But then I would be angry, and I would not let you borrow my book."

"Must you hang that over my head?"

"Yes, it's ever-so entertaining."

Severus's eyes flicked back and forth in morbid fascination of this man who dared to… banter? Bantering with the Dark Lord! Either this Mylläkkä was terribly insane or just very lucky to be alive. And was Voldemort _amused_ by him? Severus had a ominous premonition of doom in that moment, and wondered over what was to come for the Wizarding world.

Harry grinned when Severus finally Apparated away, stretching his back and standing to join Voldemort as the latter exited the hall. "Well, that was fun."

Voldemort didn't bother looking at him. "Potter, I swear you are going to be the death of my sanity."

"Ah, but Tom…" Harry began as he sashayed past the Dark Lord, throwing a wicked smirk over his shoulder, "the fun has only just begun."

* * *

(1) This is a real character from one of the Chocolate frog cards. Woo, me! XD I'm so canon. -snort-

Revised: 3/17/09 - Not as much editing in this one. Did I get more in previous edits, or was it just because this is a shorter chapter? Hum...


	4. Ennui

Disclaimer: I do not own.

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Ennui // Boredom from lack of interest_

* * *

Harry closed his eyes as he drank from the unconscious man he had accosted, his grip on the muscled forearm tight as the pulled blood from the man's wrist. It had been a while since he had had the time for a human meal, and he always managed to forget just how much more pleasant a warm person was than an animal or a substitution drink. He reveled in the steady staccato beat of the man's heart in his ears, filling his mind at the same time as the blood slowly coursed down his throat.

Harry was careful to pull away as he felt the heavy beating of his victim's heart began to slow, ensuring the man would live through dawn. So long as Harry managed to feed nightly, he had no need to kill to gain his meals. Despite all the changes Harry had undergone physically and mentally, he still refused to take life pointlessly. It was a given for his species and in the path he now walked that he would kill, and that hardly bothered Harry anymore. However, if he did not _need_ to kill, what was the point?

He snatched the man's wallet, removing the money and tossing it into the dirt next to his head. Now when the man awoke he would assume he had been mugged, have a story to tell his coworkers, and hardly ever think of it again. Harry didn't need the money, but he found it more intelligent not to give the muggles any reason for paranoia. He pressed the back of his hand to his lips to assure himself they were free of blood and walked quickly from the alley, slipping into the shadows and avoiding any more contact with early-rising Muggles. The darkness sheltered him from naïve eyes as he slipped to a side street, preparing to Apparate so he could return 'home'.

His teeth gritted at the thought, a reflexive reaction to any thought of the Dursleys. He had no wish to return to the Dursleys' home, but he had already conceded that he had no choice. So far as anyone in this year was concerned, it was still a week to his sixteenth birthday. As far as they knew, he was nothing but an angst-ridden, though famous, teenage boy with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He had to remain in the 'care' of his relatives for a few more weeks, until Dumbledore finally saw fit to allow him to go to Grimmauld Place. Not that that was something Harry looked forward to… but somehow, after all these years, he thought it might be nice to be near to Sirius, even if only in spirit.

Glancing around to make sure he would remain unseen, Harry concentrated on the park a block from 4 Privet Drive, disappearing with a loud crack. When he opened his eyes, he wrinkled his nose at the place of many of his least fond memories and pulled himself behind a tree and grimacing.

Casting out his senses and finding himself utterly alone and unwatched, Harry closed his eyes as he put one drop of the disgusting looking black potion under his tongue, his fingers fumbling on the bark of the tree for purchase as the changes began. Regressing _hurt_ through every fiber of his body, a wave of searing heat tearing through him. He could feel his skin shrinking even as his bones ground together, his muscles realigning themselves on a smaller workspace. His body would lose a lot of its strength and muscle mass in the transformation, but he should be better off than he had been before - he _was_ a vampire now.

Harry gasped as the pain finally ebbed, pain-induced tears filling his eyes as he fought to catch his breath. The transformation had brought him to his knees and Harry sighed heavily, his now short and unruly bangs lifting with the force. He popped his joints as he stood, feeling out of place several inches lower to the ground and much scrawnier than he had been in years. He flexed his arms with a scowl, annoyed at his younger self for being so utterly weak.

Already doubt was washing over him, fear surfacing as he wondered whether or not he could pull off this deception. Voldemort had asked him the same thing, but Harry had been much more sure of himself the night before. He had changed over the years into a secure young man who hated being looked down upon; Hogwarts would be bad enough between his vapid admirers, jealous classmates, and ignorant Slytherins, but how could he put up with the Dursleys without hexing them into oblivion?

He had seriously considered the Imperius before remembering the Blood Wards. Not that they did any good when Voldemort had used his blood in the resurrection process, of course, but it seemed Dumbledore had been counting on _faith _and _love _and whatever other twaddle he had dreamed up to keep his precious Golden Boy safe. It was annoying to know he was being forced to stay somewhere so vile when all the reasons he had to be there were now null and void. Unfortunately, the wards _did_ monitor all magic done within a radius of the home, and casting _Imperio_ on his bumbling Muggle relatives was likely to be noticed.

Threats however… Harry smirked. Vernon would never allow anyone in that house to contact anyone in the Wizarding world, so they would have no one to tell if he subtly made it clear that he would not take the crap they had been giving him for the last fifteen years. This thought brought new vigor to Harry as he crossed over the manicured lawn in front of the house, sadistic thoughts rolling through his mind as he heard the loud sounds of his Uncle getting ready for work. So what if he would have to go a few weeks without so much as a levitation charm? He was not some weak pureblood noble who couldn't exist without magic.

He opened the door without bothering to be quiet; smirking sinisterly as Vernon rounded on him, fat face already darkening in rage to see his nephew looking so… unintimidated.

"Boy!" Vernon bellowed, eyes narrowed. "Where have you been in the middle of the night?!"

Harry chuckled and shrugged one shoulder. "Out."

The beefy man advanced on him with a fierce look, but Harry didn't bother stepping away as Vernon stopped inches from him, face now purple and spittle flying from his mouth as his anger built. "You see here, boy! Just because you have those freaks on your side doesn't mean I will put up with any of your… your attitude!"

Harry calmly took a step back, letting his grin widen as the man sputtered, his fangs clearly exposed and making the vast amounts of blood that had gathered at the fat man's face drain away. "Now, Vernon… you don't really want to make me angry, do you? Believe me…" Harry's expression became malicious as he leaned near to the now cowering man. "I don't need magic to make you and your family wish you'd never been born."

Vernon sputtered. "W-Why you…!!"

Harry flicked a wave at the man and left back out the front door, his job done. He had thought long and hard about _why_ Vernon would have left this door unlocked that fateful morning, since he hadn't forgotten in years to do so. He'd decided in the end that he had probably had a hand in it. Now Vernon wouldn't bother, since as far as he was concerned, Harry was no longer in the house.

Harry smirked and leapt up to the roof of the 'perfect' little suburban home, pulling his invisibility cloak from his pocket and wrapping it around himself. It wouldn't do for one of the Order guards to actually see him up there, after all. He would rest until afternoon when his younger self left.

* * *

Voldemort signed the form in front of him with a flourish, his hands moving automatically across the parchment. He was on autopilot lately, having had little to do since the Department of Mysteries fiasco but sign forms and read reports. There was nothing important enough to require his presence, and torturing his Death Eaters was getting blasé. He had indulged himself with casting a Cruciatus for every infraction, relishing in having corporeal form and having access once again to his magic, but the novelty had quickly worn off.

Just as life had gotten seemingly too boring to bear, in had popped Harry bloody Potter of all people. The Boy Wonder had appeared out of nowhere aged ten years, the malnourished child suddenly a breathtaking man with a mean streak to rival his own. They had planned for hours on strategy for overtaking the Wizarding world systematically, chipping away at the ministry slowly while taking out their biggest opposition in one fell swoop; without Albus Dumbledore the Order of the Phoenix would be shattered. And before they would have any chance to regroup, Harry Potter would be revealed as the partner to the Dark Lord, sealing the Wizarding world's fate.

He wasn't sure how he felt about no longer killing off the muggleborns; it had, after all, been his ambition for years. But he could see where Potter was coming from in his beliefs, somehow. As half-bloods, the two of them were magically superior to many of the purebloods out there, and there were many purebloods who were little better than squibs. Perhaps new blood was needed to enrich the pure lines… but it had to be magical blood. No matter who was pitching the idea, he would never stoop to allowing muggles mixing with wizards.

Voldemort ran his fingers slowly over the slightly scaly skin of his wrist, watching the nearly translucent skin darken under his touch, a small beauty mark appearing only to begin to fade immediately. He let a wry smile cross his mouth as the pigment faded completely. There was something about the Potter boy, something that resonated with his very being. He didn't know why he suddenly felt a kinship with the boy; was it this bond they had? Was the scar he had left upon the boy's brow the connection he felt to him? Was it deeper than that? Something instinctive between people, a common link between like souls?

He had no belief in silly things like soul mates, but he surely understood that some people matched better with others. He had found few people in his life he connected to, few who understood his background and motivations. Potter understood, though. They were so alike, almost to a frightening degree. But Potter, for years, had buried that part of himself behind the image of a bumbling Gryffindor fool.

Voldemort loved a challenge, and Potter was the most interesting thing to come along in over a decade. Though he was no longer trying to kill the boy, he had a sinking feeling that Potter was going to continue consuming his life, one way or another.

* * *

Harry was bored. He wandered the back garden aimlessly, discreetly ruining Aunt Petunia's tulips. Harry knew he had to be bored when the only thought running through his mind was that he wished Petunia had petunias for him to ruin. His mind often wandered to the most inane subjects when he had nothing better to do.

It had been weeks since he had returned to his relatives' home, and he was sick of having absolutely nothing to do. He spent the early morning hours going through katas and sparring against the air, hoping to hone the sub-par body he was stuck in. In the evenings he read the single book he had managed to bring in its original form, an interesting book on the life of Grindewald that he had yet to read.

Dudley was the only one who was stupid enough to ever bother him, and even he was wary after the first few threats. Having all several hundred pounds of oneself flipped over your scrawny cousin was enough to strike fear into even the most brainless. Aunt Petunia ignored him when she wasn't sending him wrathful gazes, Vernon simply blanched in his presence and lumbered away. They didn't question him when he left to have his daily meal nor did they seem to even notice that he never needed to eat proper food. This was not to say that he _didn't_, he just never really felt the need to eat the diet food his aunt prepared.

Harry had received a letter from Dumbledore the week prior saying that because of Sirius's death, he would not be brought to Grimmauld Place that summer. Harry couldn't decide if this was a good thing or not. On one hand, he was glad not to have to dive into his role so quickly, but on the other he had hoped to get the hell out of the hole he was stuck in. It was now only four days until he would need to go to King's Cross, and time seemed to have slowed to a standstill. Harry sighed and lay down in the shadowed grass of the yard; no one was home to say anything, anyway.

Harry worried about his return to Hogwarts. He had missed his friends terribly over the years… but would they accept him if they knew who he had become? He loved his friends sincerely and knew -- despite the nagging or jealousy -- that they loved him too. He also knew, though, that they were just as brainwashed as most of the Wizarding populace when it came to 'good' and 'evil'.

Ron would be scared to death. Harry was a vampire, after all, so Ron's ingrained fear would override any common sense the boy possessed. Even once the shock wore off, Harry knew Ron would scorn him for his strength. He wouldn't even need to hear the bit about Harry's ties to the Dark Lord to utterly loathe him. Hermione would take the revelations in stride, but she would reason that he had been rash and was obviously just not _listening_ to the ever-wise Dumbledore. She would look up every available book on Vampires, research everything about him, and then nod with her bushy curls bouncing and drag him off to the Headmaster to be fixed. He hated to admit that they had grown apart, but doubted that they could ever accept him for what and who he had become. He would just have to treasure the time he would have with them before the truth came to light.

He had been drifting nearly on the verge of sleep when he felt his visitor arrive. Harry raised an eyebrow towards a rotted hole at the bottom of the fence, not bothering to rise as an amused smirk overtook his face. A too-large head poked its way through the opening, body trying to follow but quickly realizing the hole was far too small.

_//Did Tom miss me so much that he had to send you, or has something gone wrong?//_

Her voice was vaguely feminine somehow, highly annoyed though it was. _//I would answer you if you weren't just sitting like the impertinent brat you are! Master was so right about you. Help me, dolt!//_

Harry chucked at the large serpent before obliging, knocking away some of the rotting wood and widening the opening. _//Is that better, your Highness?//_

Nagini huffed as well as a snake could, which came out in an agitated, wordless hiss. Slithering the rest of the way through the fence, she curled up in the shadows, as aware as Harry of the Order guard in the front garden. She tasted the air lightly and hunkered into her coils. _//Master wished to request a meeting tonight before the school year begins.//_

_//Can't,//_ Harry said with a frown, eyes skating towards the house. _//The Order guards have been actually doing their job this year, and I can't risk being noticed leaving. I can hardly sneak away for a quick meal.//_

Nagini was quiet for several moments. _//Master says he wishes to meet with you the night after your first classes, then.//_

Harry raised an eyebrow in surprise. _//You can talk to him?//_

_//He can see and hear what I do if he chooses, and can command me from any distance.//_

Harry nodded thoughtfully, thinking it was a handy trick to have up one's sleeve. He leaned back against the fence in quiet contemplation, the snake by his side. Harry sighed out a whoosh of air and frowned. He knew he would need to meet with Voldemort as often as he could manage without suspicion if the two were to continue working well together, and honestly looked forward to the meetings. But he was also wary to risk his secrets being found out too soon. He wished he had an inkling of Snape's true alliance, because having a teacher to cover for him would prove to be an unequaled advantage in the months to come. He would need to make finding out a priority.

_//Tell Tom that I'll find a way to get to him on the night he wants. It will be complicated, but I think I can manage.//_ Nagini hissed happily before a loud crashing like breaking glass from the front of the house put both of them on alert, Harry stiffening and narrowing his eyes. _//You need to go.//_

Without waiting for a response, Harry crept away along the fence, his eyes narrowed toward where he knew the Order guard would be stationed. Did they not hear the ruckus? No one would be home for at least another two hours, so there should be no one to make any noise, especially not to that degree.

Reaching the edge of the house, Harry carefully cast out his senses, feeling a solitary figure only feet away from him around the corner. He narrowed his eyes and stepped out with his shoulders tensed… only to stop and laugh.

He had forgotten all about Nymphadora Tonks. The woman laid haphazardly over the bush in front of the living room window, a trashcan lid in her hand. It was this window that had been broken, and though Harry knew this would cause trouble, he couldn't help but give in to his mirth at the scene the young woman made sprawled out as she was. She looked up with a weak grin, currently orange hair hanging over her eyes. "Wotcher, Harry."

His mirth died down and he helped her up; she moved immediately towards the window to set it back to rights. Harry glanced around to make sure no Muggles were watching, a bit discomfited by her lack of secrecy. With a simple incantation the window was back to normal, and Harry gave the girl a small smile, remembering that he was not supposed to be in good spirits this 'soon' after Sirius's death. "Thanks for the laugh, Tonks, I needed it."

Orange hair dimmed and the young woman just nodded. "Sorry about that, really, but something _tripped_ me…"

Harry glances around, seeing the garden hose curled up. "That should have been picked up anyway, so don't worry about it."

She gave him another smile that was much more genuine than the first. "Well, I'd better go back to where I'm supposed to be. Kingsley will be here in an hour to take over and he'll have a wobbler if I'm not hidden."

Harry rolled his eyes. "They act like I'm not supposed to know I have guards on me."

"It's not so much you as the Muggles, you know. Summer been good, Harry?" she said before cringing, hair dimming down another shade.

Harry managed a small smile to her, ignoring the pain that still lanced through him when he thought of his Godfather. "No worries, Tonks. I've just been bored; I wish I could have gone to Headquarters."

"Yeah, but only a few more days until school starts, huh? Are you excited?"

"I'm a bit cross that I couldn't go to Diagon Alley myself this year, but yeah, I'm excited."

The young woman shifted, locking eyes with him and sighing. "I've got to get out of sight now… but I'll talk to you later, alright Harry?"

"Wait… Tonks…" he said quickly, stopping the girl from walking away. "How's Moony?"

Hair faded entirely to mousy brown now, he saw her shoulders slump. "I don't know. He left at the start of summer for Order business and only writes Dumbledore."

Harry's heart clenched, knowing he should write to the werewolf. It was only right after all that had happened. "Alright, then. Talk to you later, Tonks."

Tonks slipped away, leaving Harry staring at the ground. He had thought it would be easier to break his ties to the Light, but actually being in the position was harder than he had thought. He had made many friends over the few years he had been a part of the Wizarding world, and he would hate to be against these people. Remus… was confusing for him. He loved him for who he had been to his parents, for the friendship he'd held with Sirius. But he wasn't sure where he, himself, stood with the man. They hardly knew one another, after all, and he couldn't even call what they had a friendship. Nonetheless, he would attempt to keep that bond, no matter how fragile and barely-formed it was.

With a sigh, Harry retreated into the house and to his dusty, muggy room, intent on writing a letter to the last of the true Marauders.

* * *

_Dear Remus,_

_Hello Moony. I know it hasn't been very long since we talked last, but I hope you don't mind that I'm writing? I guess I can't really ask you about the beginning of your summer, but I still hope you are as well as you can be._

_I considered writing this letter like nothing was wrong, but I suppose it would be wrong to. We're both very aware of the things that have happened in the last months, and sugar-coating them would make no difference. I miss Sirius. Yes, I am willing to say his name, as the Ministry can lick my balls as far as I'm concerned. What will they do, prosecute me for conspiring with a known criminal posthumously? I doubt it. Not a day has gone by that I have not thought of him. Of that bitch Bellatrix. Of Dumbledore's manipulations. Of my own stupidity. Of Snape's childishness. Of Sirius's rashness. Often I have wondered the lengths I would go through to get him back… but then I stop and know that it would probably not be best. I don't know how Sirius would take my decisions of late._

_The decisions we make in life are what make us _us, _aren't they? If that is the case… perhaps I am not a good person anymore. Have you ever felt that way? Have you ever looked in the mirror and wondered if the major choices you've made were mistakes? If you will be paying for them for eternity? What those close to you would think of you if they knew your truths?_

_I also wonder how leaders of war handle the choices they must make. How do they know their choices are the right ones? Do they even feel guilt when their choices result in the loss of their own? Or do they just automatically run the tired 'all for the best' line through their heads?_

_I often wonder all those things._

_But perhaps this is because I am human…_

_Well, I will stop my rambling there. Where are you? Are you happy where you are? I must say that despite being miles away from where I expected to be… I think I am in the right place. Do you feel that way about yourself? Because if you ever doubt… where I am is open to you._

_Love and Regards,_

_Harry James Potter_

_

* * *

_

Revised: 3/18/09


	5. Rapprochement

Disclaimer: I do not own.

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Rapprochement // renewal of friendly relations_

* * *

"Bollocks!"

Harry dodged through the crowd of muggles, struggling to remain at a human speed and not mow anyone down with his trunk. King's Cross was crowded, and Harry needed to get to the barrier that led to Platform 9 ¾. It had taken longer than he had thought it would to find a person to serve as a meal in the early morning rush; there were just so many _people_ running around muggle London. More people meant less hiding places, which had ended up delaying Harry to the point where the train would soon be leaving.

He didn't bother slowing as the pillar for the barrier came into view, running headlong through the deceptive stone. His eyes brightened as he took in the sight of the train, smoke billowing from it as it prepared to depart. Harry had made it with only two minutes to spare.

He lifted his trunk rather easily onto the train, pulling it along behind him down the carriage with a barely suppressed grin. In his years in Sceaduwe Citadel, he had found it easiest to not think about the friends and places he had left behind. The first year had been more than difficult, closing his eyes and wondering how Ron or Hermione or any of this other friends were doing or what they were up to. But he had grown past it, locking his memories of his loved ones away so he could concentrate on his goals.

Now, though… now he was back. This was the Hogwart's Express, the red steam engine that had taken him straight into his fairytale land all those years ago. He was going to the one place he had counted as home in his young life. Nothing could ruin his mood now.

But of course, fate could try.

"Well, well, Potter. All alone, I see? Did your friends finally get sick of your stench, or did you just get bored of watching the Weasel and the Mudblood fornicate with their eyes?" came a familiar drawl as the train pulled away from King's Cross.

Harry had an urge to laugh. The statement, despite how rude to his friends it was, was almost amusing; Draco's wit had always been rather blasé in his memory. But mostly, it was amusing that the first person Harry ran into, of all the students on the train, was this one. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask about how his pretty father was doing, but Harry decided that was a bit too forward.

He smirked rather than the blowup that was expected of him, causing the Malfoy heir's eyebrows to rise. "You are not worth my time right now, _Draco_," Harry purred, accentuating the blond's name. "So why don't you run off to your cronies or your little pet pug? With the way you walk around with your nose up in the air, they can spend the train ride entertaining themselves by counting your nostril hairs."

Pale skin darkened in indignant anger and Draco was already fumbling for his wand. "How dare you?!"

"'How dare I' what? Insinuate you had nose hair? I hardly insulted you directly at all compared to what _you_ said," he pointed out, trying to remember he had to act like the Golden Boy and not let his snark be so obvious. He schooled his face into a scowl. "Now get out of my way so I can find my friends."

Draco didn't budge. Silver eyes scanned over Harry, confusion obvious on the boy's face. Harry didn't dare show his amusement with the inspection. In front of Malfoy, he supposed it wouldn't be so bad if he seemed strange. After all, the worst thing Draco could do would be to tell his father. But he had to be careful if Ron or Hermione were around. It wouldn't do, after all, to have someone run to Dumbledore so early in the game.

But Harry simply didn't _want_ the younger Malfoy to know. It would take all the fun out of his game.

"I said _move_, Malfoy." Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Why should I, Potty?" Draco retorted, quickly collecting himself into the pompous ass Harry remembered. "Just what do you think you'll do if I don't?"

He stifled his annoyance. "Nothing _you_ could stop," he said dryly, eyeing the wiry frame of the blond. At six feet tall, Malfoy was actually had a few inches on Harry's twenty-five year old body, though Harry was broader across the shoulders and more defined. Though the blond had tone from Quidditch, he would never lower himself to do something as _plebeian_ as martial arts or weight training, so even without revealing himself Harry knew he could take him on one handed and blindfolded. "Where are your cronies, anyway, Malfoy? No one to follow your every whim this year?"

The darkening of silvery eyes told Harry he had hit a nerve. His smirk widened.

"Ah, does it have anything to do with Daddy Dearest's stay in Azkaban? The snakes are wary to follow the son of a convict, aren't they?"

"Shut up!" Draco hissed, face reddening. He whipped out his wand and held it hard against Harry's throat, and Harry tried to pretend to be afraid. "It's your fault! You destroyed my family!"

"Have you ever considered that it was your dad's fault for being there? I only pointed him out."

"_Shut up!_" Draco screeched. "If it wasn't for your big mouth, it never would have happened! Saint Potter, poor little Gryffindor orphan boy. Just because your stupid, brainless parents got themselves killed doesn't mean you have to ruin everyone else's family!"

With one blink of green eyes, Harry was in motion, knocking away the rigid arm that held Draco's wand at his throat and twisting it around his childhood rival's back. A cold anger stole over Harry's features as he pushed Draco against the wall, his body holding him in place. "Listen to me, Malfoy, you naïve little child. Actions dictate consequences, and your father was stupid enough to get caught. You're lucky he is alive and at home and not soulless on some filth covered floor in Azkaban _rotting._"

Harry couldn't remember the last time he had allowed himself to get actually angry. He thought it must have been just before he'd left this time period and he'd destroyed Dumbledore's office after Sirius' death, because nothing but family could bring this kind of rage out in him. His temper had cooled exponentially in his years away, but there would always be some part of him that held his Gryffindor temperament. He continued the hissed litany into Malfoy's ear, whose eyes were now wide and panicked. "I would suggest you stay the hell out of my way, and if you _ever_ insult my parents again, I will make you regret it."

He released the shaking blond, sneering down at him and thanking his stars that no other students had come this far down the train. The fight had taken no more than five minutes, but it could have ended badly if Harry had let his temper reign. Without another word he spun on his heel and grabbed his trunk, hoisting it over Draco and continuing to the next train car, to the compartment he and his friends usually used.

He didn't bother turning around, but if he had, he would have seen the calculating glint that entered Draco's eyes and the contemplative look that didn't fade as the blond stood and went in the opposite direction.

* * *

Veelas, a magical race, were beautiful women with pale hair and perfect skin, able to entrance men into weakness. They had volatile tempers that transformed them into intimidating, winged beasts when provoked. They had mates which they would protect at the cost of their own life, and could control fire. That is what textbooks told students in Hogwarts.

The books, however, did not mention that males could carry Veela blood just as well as a female.

Being a Veela male was nothing special, really. Males did not have mates or scary alter-egos to deal with, though their tempers were still something to cower away from. There was no thrall or elemental command, no matter how much one might wish for them. However, holding the blood of a Veela in your veins did have certain perks, ones that Draco Malfoy was glad for. As with any magical creature, Draco's senses were much more in tune than a human's. He was only half Veela, as both of his parents were, but that hardly diluted the innate abilities the blood held. For Veela, sight was the most poignant of the senses, though scent came a close second.

There was something absolutely wrong with Harry Potter. Draco stayed lost in thought as he trekked back to his own compartment. There was just something _off_ about the Golden Boy, and Draco was determined to find out what it was and find a way to use it against him. Being young and relatively sheltered as he was, Draco didn't understand the strange… feel of the Gryffindor, having nothing in his life experience to compare it to; however, Draco was an intelligent young man, and when he set his mind to something, he achieved it.

He _would_ figure out what was different with Potter.

* * *

"Ronald Weasley, if you think you can just quit Potions and be done with it, you have another thing coming!"

"Aww, come on, Hermione…you sound like my _mom_…"

"And I suppose that's terrible since you don't listen to your mother anyway! I can't believe that you actually purposely did badly on your OWL--"

"But I didn't! It's not _my_ fault that I don't understand it, I mean, Snape doesn't even try to teach it right!"

"Excuses! I know you better than that, Ronald, and you had better believe that I will be petitioning Professor McGonagall to see that both you and Harry end up in NEWTS Potions! Honestly! Harry especially needs this knowledge, I can't see them just letting Professor Snape keep all but two or three students out of the class…"

"Oi! Harry!" Ron interrupted quickly, grinning at his friend who he had finally noticed at the door.

"Now don't change the subject Ron," Hermione continued. "Potions is a vital class, and what about wanting to be an Auror? You can't be one without having passed your Potions NEWT! It will be my personal…" Warm brown eyes locked on Harry's smiling form in the doorway to the compartment, and Hermione's face lit up. "Oh, Harry!" she cried, leaping over to engulf her long-time friend in a hug. Harry was disgusted with himself when he felt tears prick the back of his eyes as he returned the embrace, taking in the familiar scent of one of his closest friends as he struggled to maintain his passively happy mask.

"Did ya have a good summer, mate?" Ron blurted, before his face screwed up in consternation, obviously regretting the question. Hermione clenched her hands at her side as she stepped back from Harry, meeting his eyes hesitantly.

Harry didn't begrudge them their wariness; from what he remembered of his fifth year, he had been a total prat. So it was a surprise to them both when Harry smiled shakily, suddenly thankful for the conflicting emotions that were still running through him as he prepared to act for those who had known him best at this age. "It's alright, guys. You… don't have to walk on eggshells around me, you know."

Hermione's sharp gaze was flicking over him intently, making Harry more nervous than he had been since Valerian had decided to test him in a duel. Hermione was the one who would expose him in the end, he knew. No one else was as quick as her, and she would eventually put the pieces together. It was his ability to keep it from _her_ that would determine if his mission would be successful. He knew it would seem rather our of character for him to appear 'alright'… but honestly, he couldn't bear to try and be the same angst-ridden, tantrum-throwing boy he had been in his fifth year. He wanted to _relish_ the time he would have left with his friends, not squander it by pushing them away. He knew it would only cause it to hurt worse in the end… but he couldn't help it.

He had already thought it over. Death often had a profound effect of the people close to the deceased. He could just as easily blame his new disinterested and 'studious' nature on coming to terms with the loss of Sirius, saying that he needed time to recover. This would allow him to be happy with Ron and Hermione, but hopefully cast suspicion off when he got into the moods he often fell into. It would also help excuse the unexplained absences and time alone, which Harry thought was a good thing. If Hermione was _too_ worried about his wellbeing, she would watch his every move… but if he seemed to be coping, he would have a lot more time to himself.

Hermione seemed pleased with whatever she had found, because she pulled him into another tight hug. Harry mentally sighed in relief and grinned at the two before Hermione started on her rant once more, now tugging Harry into it. A long-suffering look from Ron was all it took for Harry to burst into genuine laugher.

It was good to be home.

* * *

"Well, it wasn't so bad really, because Gran set up a greenhouse for my birthday this year, so I spent most of the summer tending my new Fanged Geraniums. Oh, Harry, you should _see_ my Mimbulus mimbletonia now! It's gotten _huge_!" Neville exclaimed as he, Ginny, Harry, and Ron walked from the carriages to the school doors. Harry chuckled and smiled as the normally shy boy waxed poetic about his biggest passion.

Hermione had Prefect duties with Professor McGonagall and had gone straight to her when the carriages stopped, leaving Harry with the other Gryffindors. He smiled as he listened to the mundane conversations; Ginny went on about which boys looked more attractive this year, Neville on his plants, Ron on who would be Quidditch captain that year. Though he smiled outwardly, inside he was feeling more and more weight pressed down on his shoulders. He had always felt 'older' than his classmates, what with his childhood and responsibilities, but now the ten-year age difference made it all the more pronounced. His smile turned into grimace as they neared the Entry Hall, though he struggled to maintain his carefree appearance.

"So Harry," Ginny spoke up from his left. "You're going to take back over as Seeker this year, right? I mean, stupid Umbridge's ban won't stay in effect, obviously…"

Harry sighed internally and thought this over. Did he want to continue Quidditch? No, he thought. It would be more of a distraction and hindrance. But he knew very well that he couldn't say that. "Dunno, really. I might, but I think you're doing fine in the position. You're a credit to the team." Harry gave her a small smile, ignoring the slight blush that graced the girl's cheeks. Paying any attention to it would only give Ginny the wrong idea.

They were entering the castle when all of Harry's senses screamed.

Another disadvantage to not having submitted to a full Change was his senses. Though he could 'feel' people, he could not differentiate one person from another. He could feel the difference between a werewolf and a human, but he couldn't tell which werewolf or human they were. It was rather annoying, but in this case he thanked his senses as they alerted him to a powerful vampiric presence nearby.

One of Harry's hands casually thumped against his leg, reaffirming to himself that his dagger was still strapped to his thigh under his robes. A thin sheen of sweat was already appearing on his forehead; a vampire in the school was going to be a _disaster_, because a vampire in the school meant someone who would know _he_ was one, and that could blow his cover before the school year even began. Harry was tense and on guard now; thankfully his friends were too involved in their conversations to notice his unease.

He entered the Great Hall with trepidation, eyes scanning the room before falling on the High Table. Dumbledore was twinkling merrily in sky blue robes, obviously pleased with the start of a new school year. Severus Snape and McGonagall's empty chair sat on either side of him, the Potion's master sitting with a petulant frown on his face per usual. The other teachers sat chatting happily, from Hagrid at the far right to Sinistra at the far left. Just as Harry nearly gave up, he found his answer.

His eyes widened comically as he stopped in his tracks, spying the one of the last people he had _ever_ thought he would see in Hogwarts.

Dante.

A shoulder colliding with his own reminded Harry that he was blocking traffic, so he quickly maneuvered himself to the Gryffindor table, ignoring the conversations around him. Harry seethed, jaw tight, peeking at the disinterested blond through his fringe. Dante appeared to not even be paying attention, his eyes fixed on the enchanted ceiling as he looked like he would rather be anywhere but there. Then again, as well as Harry knew Dante, he figured the vampire _did_ want to be anywhere but there. He hated children, so why in the world was he there?

Why hadn't Dante ever told him that he had taught at Hogwarts? Wasn't that something that might be mildly important?!

As he watched, feline blue eyes finally left the ceiling and fell directly onto him. Harry sucked up his irritation and met the gaze evenly, giving a small nod to the elder vampire. In return, he got the barest hint of a smile, something you had to really know Dante to see, and Harry's irritation suddenly dwindled to nothing as shock took its place. There was recognition in those eyes. Dante _knew_ him.

Dante must have read his incredulous expression, because one shoulder rose in a shrug. Harry nearly laughed aloud and quickly turned his attention away from the blond, not wanting anyone to notice their attention to one another_. _This was brilliant, an answer to his every anxiety. He had no idea why Dante was there, but he was glad for it.

Dumbledore stood and gave his usual beginning of the year speech, grinning at the student body. The speech included warnings about Voldemort, about safety and working together to overcome obstacles. He preached to his students in a blinding display of hypocrisy, and Harry had to look down to hide his sneer.

"And finally, one more announcement before I give you leave to tuck in to your wonderful feast. Our Defense Against the Dark Arts position will this year be held by Mister Dante Pierce. Please welcome Professor Pierce."

Applause came then, many of the girls tittering and trying to catch blue eyes as the golden-blond stood and bowed. Harry rolled his eyes and applauded, his suspicions proved to be correct. He wouldn't be alone this year. Thank Merlin. Now, if he could find an excuse to talk to the vampire in private, he could find out _why_. Damn if he didn't think Valerian had something to do with it.

* * *

Dante let his eyes roam over the entering students, only centuries of training keeping his eye from twitching in annoyance. He hated children, he hated ignorance, and he hated teaching those he didn't see as having talent. Naturally, then, it seemed one of the stupidest moves of his life to have forced his way into a position teaching a bunch of untrained little monsters. And in some ways, it really was. He looked to the ceiling in annoyance, rather secretly enamored by the strength of magic it must have taken to replicate the outside sky.

But being immortal had many perks, one of them being patience. Dante had a lot of that. He had once spent nearly a decade in meditation, only waking to feed when he could no longer bear the hunger pangs, to try and find the cause of his dual magic. No other in history had managed to keep Wizarding magic while developing Vampire magic. It was simply unheard of. But he had managed it somehow. The long years of exploring every nuance of his magical systems had given him no further answers, either.

Now here he was, having killed off a potential staff member in order to be sure he would be unopposed for a position. Horace Slughorn had been easy to find and even easier to kill, the fat man whimpering pitifully as he'd died. Dante had had no remorse; such things as regret and guilt were rid from a vampire early on. Honestly, he wasn't sure he had ever felt anything like sorrow towards his victims, even in the very beginning.

His first kill, after all, had been his brother. A traitor. The man who had killed his wife for information of his whereabouts. The turncoat bastard had killed her for a mere handful of gold--

Now was not the time for such things, though, and Dante irritably pushed his hand through his hair, though he knew it to look bored to anyone observing. Centuries of practice had had him nearly unable to show emotion unless he consciously forced himself to, and even then he was so out of practice that it was likely to look false. But when his eyes fell on the young version of his Mylläkkä, he honestly had to stifle a snicker.

The boy was staring drop-jawed at him, all his careful training forgotten, blocking the flow of students entering the hall. It was amusing, really, but Dante was going to do a number on him later for forgetting himself so easily. A decade wasn't all that long, after all, and the boy had _so_ very much to learn.

Finally Harry managed to move, giving a slight nod as he moved to take his seat, which Dante returned with an amused look. The boy again looked flummoxed. Dante gave the boy a shrug and proceeded to ignore the young vampire completely, surely annoying him even more. Hopefully he wouldn't do anything stupid. Dante would talk to him after his last class the next day.

Class. Teaching. Dante groaned inwardly and went back to looking at the ceiling. How annoying.

* * *

"It seems like it's been a long time, don't you think?" Neville asked quietly, leaning against the opposite sill from Harry as they both gazed out over the grounds.

"Yeah…" said Harry, his fingers twitching at his side at the unknowing truth of the statement. "Every time I come back here I feel like I've been gone years. This place… it is the only home I've got, really."

Neville nodded in concurrence. The boys had begun really speaking the year before -- fifth year, that was -- having realized the similarities they bore. Born near the same time, losing their parents to Voldemort, being raised by people not necessarily the best caretakers out there. Neville's grandmother wasn't a cruel woman, of course, but she was strict and had spent years and years lamenting Neville not being more like his parents. Both Harry and Neville were aware that Augusta really did love her grandson, but she just didn't have the best way of showing it; her love and respect for his parents often ended up overshadowing her good sense. It had done horrible things to the boy's self esteem, but Harry thought that being out on his own and finding his niche had done wonders for him.

Harry had tried his best in fifth year to pull that confidence out of Neville, slowly but surely exposing a real person from beneath the overlooked shell. It seemed the Department of Mysteries debacle had furthered his progress, as the boy had an air about him this year that Harry didn't remember him having the last time he'd seen him. It was refreshing.

They had started this ritual in their second year; on their first night back, both would stand at the largest window of their dorm room and stare out over the Hogwarts grounds, relishing simply in being there. While they hadn't talked at first, by fourth year they had stayed up half the night just talking quietly to the background noise of Ron's snores and Seamus's habitual mumbling.

It was for Neville that Harry seriously considered leaving Bellatrix alive. She had stolen Neville's parents in a way somehow much worse than his own parents had been taken. Sirius had been something resembling an accident; though it had been obviously fortuitous to Bellatrix, it had been an accident nonetheless. Neville's parents, though, had been a malicious and purposeful job. It was not mercy that would stay his hand, but a need to make the bitch suffer. He would torture her happily for any defiance, but he would leave her death to Neville. When he got the courage, he would have his revenge, Harry would be sure of it.

"Have I shown you my new wand yet, Harry?" Neville asked after a few minutes more of silence, smiling gently in the moonlight.

It took Harry several moments of thought before deciding he most likely hadn't seen the wand. If Neville had gotten it in the remaining days before classes ended, he didn't know; small memories like that were fuzzy at best. "No, Nev, let's see it."

Confidence and pride bloomed on the sixteen year old's face as he pulled out the cherry wand, presenting it to Harry. This seemed to be a huge source of the air Neville now held. Perhaps it would even improve his magic; Harry was sure having a wand suited to him would really boost his ability to perform. His magic would never be strong, per se, but with confidence he could easily hold his own now.

"Cherry, good wand for you. Cherry wood stands for rebirth and new awakenings, you know."

Neville beamed. "I know, I looked it up. Gran was so proud. I… I just feel…"

"Good?"

"Yeah. Good. I couldn't have done it without you, Harry. Last year you showed me I could be my own person… I don't even think this wand could have helped me without all you did."

Harry smiled softly. "Don't thank me, Neville. I'm your friend, after all. I always knew you had it in you."

Neville beamed again and the two went back to staring out over the glassy surface of the lake, Hogsmeade's lights shining in the darkness. Harry could wait to feed; this was a tradition that bore standing. Even if he was losing everyone around him… at least he could have moments like this to hold him.

* * *

Revised: 3/18/09


	6. Elucidation

Disclaimer: I do not own.

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Elucidation // to provide clarification; explain_

* * *

The moon watched over Harry as he crept across the silent lawns of Hogwarts after he had snuck away to feed. Animal blood was nowhere near as satisfying as human, but it beat the disgusting Blood Substitution potions that some vampires swore by. Though Harry kept a cache of it 'just in case', he chose not to use it unless the situation was dire.

The Hogwarts grounds seemed to glow under the ethereal light of the waxing moon, nearly full overhead. Long shadows were cast from the reflected light, lending a surreal look to the landscape. Harry felt like he was dreaming as he stayed to the deepest shadows hoping to remain undetected. He begrudged Valerian his Shadow capabilities; it would be so much easier to simply allow himself to fade in wherever he pleased. But he was not a fool; techniques such as that took a lifetime or two to learn. As much as it would be nice for it to come ingrained in his vampirism, he had to deal with what he got.

The Entry Hall was eerily silent as he slipped up the first staircase, his senses cast out to be sure he remained unwatched. He needed to get a few hours of sleep that night, because he doubted he would get any at all the night after. He had his meeting with Tom to worry about. On silent feet he made his way up to Gryffindor Tower and past the sleeping Fat Lady, ready to turn in.

Ron was snoring loudly and Harry gave a wry grin at the familiarity of it. He, Neville, and Ron had met up with Dean and Seamus after dinner, the latter three commenting boisterously on their summer. It was not strange for Harry to not join in on this, as most people were aware that he did not enjoy his summers with his relatives. But watching the three young men had given Harry pause.

He was no longer like them.

It had been niggling on his mind since the train ride, becoming more obvious through dinner, but the full weight of the revelation seemed to lay heavy on his heart in that moment. He could no longer relate to these people, any of them. He had spent ten long years being trained by ancient vampires and other intelligent immortals, and as such had adopted to the situation by becoming more like them. Now he was here with young men who had barely lived sixteen years and his heart ached in his chest. He didn't care about girls. He didn't care much about Quidditch anymore, either. He wasn't prone to angsting over the lot he had been handed in life, nor the 'unfairness' of their professors. Though he had always felt separate from his peers growing up, the ten year age difference held the truth in stark relief.

If he ever had before, he no longer fit in.

The revelation both saddened and lifted Harry's spirits all at once. On the one hand, he regretted losing the tight bond he had formed with Ron; despite the rough patches, the redhead had been a wonderful friend and had been right there beside him through so much. It dismayed him to realize the loss of his first friend, like he had suddenly lost his childhood. On the other hand, though, this would certainly make his predicted end result easier for him. He had no illusions that any of the people he knew from his years in Hogwarts would stand by him when the truth came out. If it wasn't his Vampirism, it would be his status as Dark. If it wasn't that, it would be the blood on his hands. Even if one of them was able to get past those things, one encounter with his cruel, calculating side and they would be sent running. He supposed the emotional distance that was setting in now was preferable to losing it all in one swift kick in the teeth.

Sinking into his bedding, he let the still familiar sounds of dormitory life rise and ebb around him as he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Severus Snape tapped his fingers against his thigh, a habit from his teenage years that still manifested before he had drunk his morning tea. The listless tattoo of his fingers was silent in the din of the Great Hall, but Severus used the faint pressure to keep is mind focused on his thoughts and not on bemoaning his life as it currently stood.

His favorite student had come to his rooms immediately after the Welcoming Feast, rambling on about Potter being different somehow this year. Severus sneered both internally and visibly, cowing a few students without even trying. The brat hadn't even been in the school twenty-four hours and already he was causing new problems for the Potions Master. He wondered about what Draco described, though. That the Malfoy heir had admitted to his weakness when confronted with Potter had astounded Severus and forced him to take the blond seriously, no matter how farfetched the situation seemed. His first assumption was that the death of his mutt of a Godfather had taken its toll on the supposed 'Hero' of the Wizarding world. He had hated Black into the deepest fibers of his being, but he could imagine what such a loss would do to the cocky Potter boy.

Black eyes flickered across the Great Hall, watching the students filling the house tables and chatting away with their friends. They were all so naïve, flitting about like there _wasn't_ a war going on outside the castle walls, worrying about their superficial lives and their petty problems. Severus hated children for this reason more than any other. Even when he had been in school he had had to deal with Death Eater meetings, James Potter and his cronies, his mother's declining health, and just _surviving_ beyond another year. He had not had time for the trivialities of youth, and he despised all these bumbling children who believed there was nothing more to life than who had gotten a haircut over the summer and who was going to win the House Cup that year.

Black eyes locked onto eerily bright green and motion in the hall froze for one moment, Severus's breath inexplicably locking in his throat. Something in those eyes was too…_ too hard_ for a child, too dark to be normal. Potter blinked and the moment was ruined, Severus quickly pulling his eyes away.

Severus chose to ignore the chill of foreboding that lanced down his spine and went back to sipping his tea.

* * *

Harry shook off the strange feeling that had filled him as the staring contest between he and Snape came to a close, choosing to instead focus on the biscuit he had commandeered for his breakfast. He had no real need for regular food, but he liked it well enough and chose to eat it to keep up appearances.

The morning mail had been delivered and Harry lost himself in the drone around him, his fellow students chattering excitedly, or in several cases woefully, about the classes they would be taking that year. Harry had half an ear on everything around him and his eyes slanted in the direction of a bored looking Dante, who sipped a beverage without even bothering to look his way. He didn't have DADA until the next afternoon, so doubted he would get to talk to the vampire before then.

Hermione's muted gasp rang to his right, and he took his eyes off of Dante and raised an eyebrow at her. "What's wrong, Hermione?"

The muggleborn witch shoved the Daily Prophet under his nose, pointing to a minor article on the second page. "Look here, Harry! They had to Obliviate over a hundred muggles this summer! This is terrible… at this rate, the Wizarding world will be exposed!"

It was only that she sounded genuinely on the verge of panic that made Harry not burst out laughing, instead he smiled gently at the brunette. "Don't worry so much. We won't be exposed."

"How can you talk to calmly?!" she said, shaking the paper which she had yet to remove from Harry's face. "You were raised Muggle too, you know how they are! If they find out about us…"

"Hermione," he broke in with a wry smile. "Calm down. It's _because_ I know muggles that I'm not paranoid. You know as well as I do of how ignorant they can be. You could parade a dragon in front of a crowd and we would remain undetected. Half of the people would just brush it off as a special effect. Some would join little conspiracy groups believing the government was doing genetic experiments. And the remaining of them would just go home thinking they had been dreaming. It will take a lot more than a few people ranting about our existence for the oblivious fools to see anything they don't want to see."

Hermione's brown eyes widened before narrowing, lips pursed in a trademark 'Hermione is Thinking' expression. Harry picked at his biscuit as he watched her toss the idea around in her head, obviously weighing its truths. Ron remained focused on his food, not caring in the least about their discussion. Finally, bushy hair swung with the force of Hermione's nod and she smiled. "You know, you're right. I was being a bit paranoid, wasn't I?"

Harry resisted the urge to agree. "No matter, really. I can see why people would be concerned. But I think of my uncle: he _knows_ magic exists and he still doesn't think it is anything to worry about. So I figure we just ignore them and they'll live on in their ignorant bliss. It's a win-win situation, really."

"That's surprisingly intelligent, Harry." Hermione beamed, obviously believing that to be a compliment.

Harry rolled his eyes at her and smiled. She was massively intelligent, but even though they had improved over the years, her people skills still needed work.

"Boys! Herbology starts in ten minutes! Up, up!"

Both of their groans answered her.

* * *

Harry fought the urge to practice a few choice curses on the Ashwinder that Hagrid had assigned to their group. They would only be alive another week, and kind-hearted Hagrid was insistent on making their short lives better before they laid their dangerous eggs, and it was his sixth year students' job to help. Harry sighed as he listened to the silvery-grey snake rant in broken insults and confusing tirades; snakes that did not spend time around humans did not speak in coherent sentences. He knew better than to even attempt speaking with the annoying serpent in class, so instead suffered being the only person who could hear the curses of the short-lived beings.

Hermione was currently in Arithmancy, leaving Ron, Harry, and Seamus as the only Gryffindors in the Care of Magical Creatures class. Thankfully it was the last class of the day. Harry had failed to take into account how utterly boring going to classes would be when he already knew all the material, and just wanted the annoying day to be done with. He was rather looking forward to his meeting with Tom that night, as he currently felt like he hadn't had an intelligent conversation in years. He shoved away a tiny voice that noted that it was odd to look forward to seeing _Voldemort_ of all people, knowing things were different now. Despite what the man had done and despite the lingering feelings of dislike that remained, Voldemort was an intelligent and interesting person, and Harry couldn't help gravitating toward that.

Harry, Ron, and Seamus worked in silence, save for the annoyed grumblings of Ron and the angry hisses from the snake. As Harry attempted to adjust the snake's bedding, it stuck out and managed to sink its fangs into Harry's hand at the base of his thumb; Harry cursed under his breath and wasn't sure if it came out in English or Parseltongue, but was sure he didn't give a damn at the moment. Though not venomous, being bitten by _anything_ hurt, and even the scent of his own blood was enough to make him antsy.

"You alright, mate?" the redhead asked, peering over Harry's shoulder, "It didn't get you, did it?"

Harry shook his head, his hand being in his mouth and keeping him from answering as he closed the wound. After a few moments he removed his hand, "No, I just managed to hit it on the bar a bit."

Seamus, who had been sitting on the ground and thoroughly ignoring their assignment, peeked up through sandy blond bangs. "Remind me again why I'm still taking this class?"

"Because otherwise you'd have to take Divination," Ron said.

Harry chuckled. "I think it's the only reason anyone takes this class."

Seamus heaved a heavy sigh and plopped backwards into the grass. "Wojus."

Ron joined him. "Yep."

Harry just shook his head and continued the assignment for the last few minutes of class, scowling at the hissing snake.

"What's it saying?" Ron asked suddenly, and Harry blinked back his surprise. Normally Ron seemed to try and forget that his friend was a Parselmouth.

"Uhh… you really don't want to know," Harry said sheepishly as the snake let out a few expletives that would have made Mad-Eye Moody blush.

"Maybe if you told it to shut up and we could ignore it for the rest of class," Seamus said hopefully, eyeing the snake with disdain.

Again, Harry was surprised by the boys' casual comments to his 'Dark' ability, but only laughed and brushed it off. "But then its insults would be against _me_ rather than the color of Ron's hair, and that wouldn't be very entertaining for me."

Ron pinked in indignation. "Hey!"

"What? It's not like you can understand what it's saying."

His friend shrugged and pouted. "Stupid snake."

"Just be glad Hagrid has yet to decide to ask to use one of Aragog's children."

A visible shudder went through the redhead as the end of class was announced by a pleased Hagrid, and the three boys began their trek back to the castle in the slight mist. They had nearly made it to the doors when they were stopped by a figure that stepped out of nowhere, causing Ron and Seamus to jump back in surprise and Harry to stifle a grin at Dante's less than subtle emergence.

A golden eyebrow rose as the expressionless man surveyed the trio, feline eyes darting from one boy to the next before landing with an amused look on Harry. "Mr. Potter, I have been sent by the Headmaster to retrieve you. Will you follow me?"

Harry nodded, waving off his dormmates and following his instructor into the castle silently, waiting until they would both be sure of their privacy before yanking Dante into an empty classroom. Harry quickly put up silencing and locking charms to be sure their conversation remained private, a scowl overtaking his features. "What are you doing here, Dante?"

"Hn," Dante said with a slight quirk of his lips. "That's Professor Pierce to you."

Harry growled in response.

"Fine," he drawled, flicking his fingers at Harry. "Valerian sent me along after you. You should have known he wouldn't send his favorite pet out without someone to watch over him."

"I resent being called his pet and I want to know why I wasn't informed of this. And how did he send you as well? Opening the portal for only me should have exhausted him for weeks!"

Only because Harry knew the blond so well was he able to see the long-suffering look he was given. "You're thinking linearly again, Mylläkkä," he chided. "In fact, it exhausted him for a month, and he still waited another before he sent me. He merely sent me back farther. Time is not an issue to him, you know this."

Harry shrugged and sat down on the top of a desk, surveying the room for a few silent minutes. It looked to be an old Arithmancy classroom by the charts on the wall. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin upon them, drained of anger now but still upset. "Did neither of you think this would be something important to tell me?"

Dante sighed and adjusted his position, shifting his weight to one foot and cocking his head at Harry. "It wasn't until after you left that Valerian became so worried for you that he asked me to go. You know how he can get. He never wanted you to leave in the first place, but he had promised you when he brought you to Sceaduwe that you could leave in ten years to return to the Mortal realm. Valerian would never go back on his word, but you know it hurt him to let you go."

Harry's eyes cut away. "I apologize for jumping to conclusions. But I would have appreciated a warning."

A smirk settled over Dante's face. "_That_ was my idea, Mylläkkä. I have to keep you on your toes, after all."

Harry laughed weakly and shoved the blond, hopping up from his seat on the desk. "Whatever, Dante. How did you manage to get a job here, anyway? Surely Dumbledore knows you're a vampire."

A nod. "He knows, as will all students. It will not be hidden as it was with Mr. Lupin, and I am only going to be here for one year. He had planned, actually, to replace the Potions Master with the previous one and allow the Snape fellow to teach Defense… but the former Master had an accident. I was his only choice."

Harry laughed again and tipped his head. "Touché. I must say that this is convenient, though. I was worried about how I was going to get away with my meetings with Voldemort and not raise too much suspicion."

"Isn't Snape a Death Eater?"

"Yes, but he is also a dual spy. I can't be sure which side he is actually on."

Dante's eyes narrowed. "I hate spies."

"Oh, shut up. This isn't the same as your brother, Dante. I honestly respect Snape for being able to survive in the life he's been forced into. He's had a lot of things shoved onto his shoulders."

"Like you?"

Green eyes locked with blue. "Yeah, a lot like me."

"When is your first meeting?"

Harry pulled out his wand and cast a Tempus, frowning. "In two hours. I need to go to dinner to keep up appearances."

"We will talk tomorrow then, Mylläkkä."

"You've got to stop calling me that, Dante. You'll have to lower yourself to calling me Potter, because the name Mylläkkä will soon be as known as Voldemort. If someone heard you call me it…"

The vampire just lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. "I'll just avoid referring to you at all."

As Dante walked away. Harry smiled at both the knowledge of his friend's closeness and his impending meeting with the Dark side. Harry couldn't help the snicker that escaped him at the thought; he felt rather like a Star Wars reject. With a grin that he didn't dare showing others because of his fangs, Harry stretched his arms above his head as he walked down the empty corridor.

He didn't feel the eyes watching his every move.

* * *

Revised: 3/18/09

* * *


	7. Sadism

Disclaimer: I do not own.

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Sadism // the gaining of pleasure from causing physical or mental pain_

* * *

"I'm off to bed, guys," he said with a faked yawn.

From the common room couch, where she had been coyly flirting with Dean, Ginny pouted. "It's early, Harry! We all just barely got settled in!"

Harry gave the youngest Weasley an apologetic smile. "I didn't get much rest last night, having to adjust to Ron's deafening snores again."

The rest of the group, which included a few of Ginny's year mates as well as Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, laughed at Ron's expense, and Harry received a face full of pillow for his effort. He grinned at Ron and tossed the pillow back at the redhead. They had all congregated in the Gryffindor common room to relax, deciding to spend their first real night back together. Thankfully, the homework load was less on the first day, though people who had had Potions already had a hefty essay to complete.

"Prat, I'm not _that_ bad," Ron complained. "Neville snores louder!"

"Yeah, but Neville learned the put up a silencing charm over his bed years ago," Dean joined in.

Harry needed to get away if he was going to get out the window unseen and away from the castle, as the other boys would soon be going to bed. He broke into the familiar camaraderie. "G'night, all! I'll see you in the morning."

Hermione waved distractedly from within her Transfiguration textbook, and everyone else gave varying goodbyes. Harry gave another yawn for effect before trudging up the stairs, tapping his robe pocket to be sure the Regression and Reversion potions were in place. It would be too dangerous for Harry Potter to risk being seen anywhere near Riddle Manor, not to mention that Harry would be damned if he would try to conduct a meeting while looking like a sixteen year old.

Arriving in his dorm, he quickly yanked the curtains around his bed shut and cast a locking spell over them. He didn't want anyone to find him absent, so it was better if they were suspicious of him locking his drapes. After changing his school robes for a heavy cloak, Harry pulled his old Firebolt and Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk and unlatched the window, shivering the smallest bit as the chilly night air wafted in. With a last glance around the room he hopped onto his broom and soared into the night, heading towards the edge of the anti-apparition wards.

Behind him, sleepy hazel eyes blinked rapidly at the window, wondering just where Harry was going that late at night.

* * *

Harry wiped his watering eyes with the back of his hands, willing away the stinging prickles that the Reversion potion had invoked. Reversion, while not nearly as painful as the Regression was, still hurt like a bitch. He stood slowly and shuddered, trying to clear his head of the echoes of the roaring pain; he was suddenly very glad that he didn't do this often. Adding to the pain was the extreme tightness of his clothing, now. He'd forgotten to take into account the size difference. He had gone from bigger to smaller last time, so this had not been an issue. Now Harry struggled to move and cursed the fact that he had worn one of the few pairs of pants that actually _fit_ his sixteen year old body that day.

The shadows of the forest outside Hogsmeade gave him total privacy anyway, so Harry threw off his heavy cloak and stripped out of his clothing, glad to find that he hadn't ruined his trousers in the transformation. After emptying the pockets, he sighed and shrunk them along with his invisibility cloak, glasses, and his phoenix feather wand. Stuffing them into the cloak pockets, he was glad to at least have boxers on as he pulled the cloak over his shoulders and used a spell to hold the front shut.

Not wasting any time, Harry Apparated into the foyer of Riddle Manor, adjusting the cloak's hood over his head as he observed the few people that milled around the manor at night. Many glanced his way, but few paid him any mind. Harry started on his way to where he knew Voldemort was, ignoring any looks sent his way. He knew he was expected.

Sneering at Pettigrew, who was crouched down in a doze beside the door, he strolled into the office and smirked at Voldemort as he lowered his automatically brandished wand. Harry pushed back his hood as he flopped gracelessly into the seat across from the man's desk. "Do you _ever_ leave this office?"

Voldemort scowled and waved his wand, setting a silencing barrier. "Hello to you too, Potter. Nice to see you. Yes, I had a fine day, tortured Wormtail into a blubbering mess and got some interesting information regarding the Ministry. How about you?"

Harry couldn't help but snicker. "Oh Tom, are you in a mood? I'm sorry I am not following decorum, but you must admit that you are in the exact position I left you in weeks ago."

Voldemort growled, running a spindly hand over his face. "Being a Dark Lord isn't all Death Eater meetings and torture sessions, you know. I have mission reports to read, expenditure charts, missives from allies… you should be helping me with this, Potter, since you are _supposed_ to be a partner in this."

Harry shrugged a shoulder and grabbed a paper off the top of the stack to Voldemort's right. "Well, no one but your Death Eaters know who I am at the moment, so I can't do much to help."

"We're going to have to change that, you know."

"Ah, but how? I refuse to go on a killing spree just to get my name out. If there was a worthwhile raid planned, I could accompany you. That would surely get the message out."

"We'll figure it out." Voldemort propped his chin on laced fingers, suddenly looking drained.

"Have you been sleeping, Tom? Pardon, but you look more like shite than usual."

A scowl. "Thanks, Potter."

The joking smile faded, and Harry leaned forward in his seat. "Honestly Tom, what's wrong with you?"

"Showing concern for the Dark Lord? Honestly, _Gryffindors_."

"Oh shut up," Harry said seriously, bright eyes narrowing, "I don't know what's crawled up your arse, but knock it off. We don't know each other especially well yet, but I'm not blind. When something is wrong with you it affects me as well, as we will not be getting anything done with you acting like a prat."

Voldemort's lipless mouth curved into a wry smirk. "I'm tired, Potter. Lucius was able to regain his job at the Ministry, but with considerably less influence. I've been planning for over a week straight on the best way to handle this situation, but I keep finding loopholes in my plans. Fudge needs to get out, but I don't want someone like Scrimgeour taking his place; a fanatic like him would be worse. I want to add more of my men into the system, but that raises the chance of someone catching on. I want to start recruiting those who are disillusioned within the Auror ranks, but one wrong person and _more_ problems will arise."

Harry propped his elbows on the desk resting his chin on his hands with far-off eyes as he thought out loud. "Fudge is easily manipulated, leave him. You should add people, despite the risks, the more there are the better. And you can always stage another raid on Azkaban if a few of your men get caught. Don't bother with the Aurors, there are too few who would even consider dissent for it to be viable. You should set Lucius rebuilding his contacts, making new ones. Despite his loss of power, he is still a prominent wizard and now that his allegiances are suspected, those people who _do_ want to know more would want to go to him, as a powerful and well-known pureblood."

Voldemort inclined his head. "They were rhetorical questions, Potter. I know very well the best course of action. But it seems the years have been good to your practical intelligence as well. Salazar knows you had little of it when you were a teenager."

"I was a child forced into a war with no training. Don't tell me you expected me to be some kind of prodigy as well?"

"No, but you held your own for a brat, I admit. Do you _realize_ how much of a blow to my ego it was to be thwarted by a child a tenth of my age so many times?"

Harry couldn't help smirking. "Was ickle Voldie's self-esteem bruised?"

"Oh, shut up Potter. Now, I'm going to call Lucius in here to relay the plans; is that acceptable?"

"I thought they were rhetorical."

Voldemort scowled. "They were. But your points managed to sway me. Now, shall I call in Lucius?"

With a nod from Harry, Voldemort dissipated the silencing spell and barked out in a harsh tone, "Wormtail!"

A few moments of silence passed and Harry sneered pointedly. "The git was sleeping in the corner across from your door when I arrived, he probably still is."

Voldemort looked livid as he stormed to the door, flinging it open with a loud crash. Harry leaned around his armchair to watch the doubtlessly entertaining scene and enjoy the pain of one of the few people he could bring himself to hate. "Wormtail," Voldemort hissed menacingly at the now cowering man. "How _dare_ you neglect your duties, impudent fool!"

Harry let a satisfied smirk cross his face as this was followed by a Cruciatus, the wails of the rotund traitor echoing through the office. Harry relished in the pain he knew was being inflicted in a way he had never relished in pain before, a warm rush shooting down his spine. He grinned as Voldemort delivered a swift kick to the rat's side once the curse was lifted, sending him scurrying off to find the Malfoy patriarch.

Voldemort turned in time to see the look on his face, smirking as he returned to his desk. "Enjoy that, did you?"

Harry shared a wicked grin with the Dark Lord. "Only with that bastard."

Harry had pondered the night before just how he could move past Voldemort having killed his parents yet still wish for Pettigrew's death for simply giving him the opportunity to. It had been a simple conclusion, really. Voldemort had never been their friend. Voldemort had always been a straightforward man; he liked you and you were in favor, he didn't and you were either dead or wished you were. Pettigrew had no spine and had _betrayed_ people who had shown him nothing but kindness. Harry welcomed the nearly euphoric feeling that spread through him with the Peter's pain.

"In the meantime, is there anything you have to report from Hogwarts yet?"

"Just one thing. Dante, my martial arts and dueling instructor from Sceaduwe Citadel, ended up being asked by Valerian to come back in time as well, to watch over me or some such nonsense. However, this is advantageous in that he is the new Defense professor, and so even without confirming Snape's loyalties I have someone to cover for me."

Crimson eyes had widened just a bit, and Voldemort steepled his hands under his chin. "You're on a first name basis with the Marquis Valerian?"

"Don't act like he's something special if he happens to check up on me, Val's ego is big enough as it is."

"It would be… _extremely _advantageous if we could secure an alliance with him; do you realize the power he commands?"

"Of course I do, it is his blood that made me what I am, and I have been his closest confidant these last few years. I am sure Val wouldn't be opposed to helping out or giving support, though he won't be doing much himself. I can say this surely, as he was rarely gone from the Citadel in the years I stayed there. I would know," he said wryly.

Voldemort looked at him questioningly, but Harry merely smirked. The two shared a moment of strangely comfortable silence before Harry perked up, looking sheepish. "Hey Tom… this is going to sound strange, but do you have a pair of trousers I can borrow? You're taller than me, but I can make do."

Harry nearly laughed at the comical look that overtook Voldemort's face, an incredulous lift of his brow that left one of his eyes twitching. "And… _why_ do you need trousers?"

"I forgot that I was going to grow five inches and a fair amount of muscle mass when I used the Reversion potion…" Harry illustrated this by yanking on the top of his cloak, exposing his bare collarbone and shoulder. "While my state of undress is hidden, it's rather uncomfortable sitting here in nothing but my undergarments and a cloak."

Voldemort snorted and swished his wand, and moments later a folded black pile came through the still open door, sailing toward the desk. "I hope these are… acceptable," Voldemort said with a leer that made Harry nervous.

It made sense when he actually looked at the bundle, and a chuckle escaped his lips as he stood. "You just want to see me in leather, don't you, Tom? I'm flattered."

The leer intensified. "You grew up well, can you blame me?"

Harry laughed and canceled the spell holding his cloak shut, letting it slide off his shoulders and pool at his feet. He didn't have to look towards the Dark Lord to know he was watching. " You were a looker in your school years. It's a pity, really, that you're all… icky. No offense meant, of course, but you have to know what I'm talking about. I tend to prefer my men with noses," Harry said offhandedly as he bent to push his feet into the dragonhide trousers.

"Things are not always as they seem," Voldemort murmured, and Harry glanced toward him over his shoulder as he pulled the pants up, a strange sensation traveling down his spine at the heated look he was receiving. He ignored the shiver and raised an eyebrow for clarification as he stood and faced him, but Voldemort was too distracted to answer, choosing to rake his eyes down Harry's half naked form. Harry couldn't fight the heating of his face, pink spreading over the bridge of his nose and across his cheekbones.

He had just managed to close the clasp of the pants, scowling at the way the legs continued past his feet and called attention to his height, when Lucius Malfoy swept into the room, making it halfway to the Dark Lord's desk before halting at the sight of 'Mylläkkä' standing topless in leather pants. Harry's sheepish blush vanished instantly, a smirk appearing on his face. "Now this one, on the other hand…" He heard a muffled snort from Voldemort and Harry's smirk turned lopsided. "Hullo there, Pretty, like what you see?" he purred, making Lucius stop his perusal and force a blank look.

Lucius ignored Harry completely, obviously still sore from their first meeting. Though the area around his mouth was tight with irritation, his face was blank as he swept into a bow before Voldemort. "You called for me, my lord?"

Voldemort's eyes were amused, but he remained serious. "You will be extending your contacts and feeling out your old ones within the Ministry. As Mylläkkä here pointed out, you are still an influential and well-known pureblood. Any dissenters in the ministry would go to you before any other."

Grey eyes cut over to Harry, whose smirk broadened enough to show a flash of fang. "In the coming months, plenty of things will be happening that will make people's faith waver. Though you were cleared, most everyone is aware that you really _are_ a Death Eater now, and those who question the Light will see you as an obvious choice to speak to."

"Understood, my lords."

"Hmm... I think I like the sound that, Tom."

"You would."

"Oh, don't give me that, Mr. 'No-One-Can-Say-My-Name'."

Lucius had looked surprised when Harry had insulted Voldemort, but he looked petrified when the only response to his flippancy was a chuckle. "It isn't like that ever stopped you, brat."

"Of course not. I've never been all that scared of you, bar a few more extreme situations.".

"Well, unless you have other business with him, I'm going to send Lucius off now."

Harry pursed his lips in thought, shrugging. "Unless I'm allowed to toy with him some more, I guess he can go."

Lucius scowled. "I am going to make you regret accosting me. No one dares to _toy--_"

Voldemort, who had been fingering his wand, turned it on the Malfoy. "_Crucio_. You shouldn't disrespect your superiors, Lucius."

The blond dropped to his knees and whimpered, the spell still holding. His pride made him try to keep from screaming, but both Voldemort and Harry knew it wouldn't last. Lucius fell onto his back, arching off the ground and a bit of blood trickling from his mouth where he had bitten his lip, and Harry sauntered over with a smirk. One leg on either side of his body, Harry leaned down over Lucius, a finger tracing his jaw. "Come on, Lucius, let me hear you _scream_…"

Furious and pained grey eyes locked with Harry. He gave a smirk in return. "Come now, Pretty. If you scream for me, I'll have dear Tom release the spell."

Whether it was this promise or simply being unable to hold it any longer, scream he did. The blond arched violently, eyes rolling back and only making Harry's grin widen. He waved a hand at Voldemort, and the Dark wizard obliged him by cutting off the curse. Harry crouched over Lucius and watched the man's body twitch, one tanned hand still tracing over aristocratic features. "It's impressive that he can be so pretty even like this."

Harry stood and moved away before the blond could retaliate, grinning at Voldemort. The Dark Lord smirked. "You have a sadistic streak, I see."

"I think I'm noticing that."

Voldemort turned crimson eyes on Lucius. "You are dismissed."

The blond tried to regain his dignity as he rose on wobbling legs, bowing and leaving without another word. Harry finally picked up the cloak he had neglected and put it over his shoulders, not bothering this time to seal it. He noted with amusement that Voldemort's eyes often strayed to the exposed skin, and wasn't sure why exactly that made him feel so smug. He was used to being looked at this way; since he had 'grown up', he had gotten his fair share of attention. Perhaps it was that it was Voldemort, his childhood nemesis that was staring at him so hungrily.

Nonchalantly, Harry leaned forward and snatched the quill out of Voldemort's hand, using it to mark a few points on a report from a raid the week before. Voldemort's eyes blinked several times before a scowl settled over his face. "Brat, give that back."

"Your mind was away from you." Harry smirked, looking up through his lashes. "So I figured one of us should be working."

Voldemort huffed and conjured another quill, snatching a paper off the stack. "Insufferable. How am I going to survive this war working with _you_? Is that your plot? Kill me off by driving me nuts?"

Harry winked, "We'll see, Tom. We'll see."

* * *

Revised: 3/18/09


	8. Surreptitious

Disclaimer: I do not own.

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Surreptitious // obtained, done, made, etc., by stealth; secret or unauthorized; clandestine._

* * *

"Have you even wondered how your life would have turned out if you hadn't had to grow up in the orphanage?"

Voldemort stopped writing at the sudden question after over an hour of silence, slowly turning red eyes up to meet green. "What brought this on?"

A shrug. "I don't know, really. I was just thinking about how alike we are, and I wondered how different things might have been."

"Well, I can't answer that. 'What ifs' are a pointless endeavor."

Harry scowled. "Come on, Tom. Haven't you ever wondered how different you would have been?"

"When I was a teen and younger, yes. All the time. I'm turning seventy years old this year, Harry, I've expended all my 'what ifs' by now."

Harry gave him a wry smile. "You actually called me by my given name."

"So I did." Voldemort was looking away from him, and Harry could tell that was intentional. He moved on quickly, and Harry ignored the twinge of regret. "What did you mean by us being alike?"

"Our childhoods. How we reacted is the only real difference. Orphan. My aunt and uncle hated magic, kept my ancestry from me until my Hogwarts letter came. Not so much abusive as neglectful. I was their House Elf."

"I never meant for it to be that way. If you've ever noticed, there are very few orphans of the first war. If the parents were killed, the child usually was as well. After how I grew up, I didn't wish it even on the children of my enemies."

For a long moment, the two just looked at one another, until Harry finally smiled and nodded. "I am glad that is the case."

Voldemort opened his mouth to speak, but an abrupt knocking at the door called his attention. With a scowl, Voldemort waved his wand at the door. "What do you want?!"

The door opened hesitantly, revealing someone Harry hadn't expected to see. Draco Malfoy was obviously scared out of his mind to be faced with the Dark Lord, but he was doing an admirable job of hiding it. The blond's eyes flicked to Harry but didn't stay on him, obviously too scared to look away from Voldemort. "M-My lord, it is very important that I find my father… Mother said he had come here?"

Voldemort raised his brow. "You interrupted me to find your father?"

"It's important, my lord! I-It's about Potter!"

Voldemort's eyes flicked to Harry, who had turned to hide his grin from Draco. He shrugged at the Dark Lord and leaned back in his seat, raising an eyebrow at Draco. "You're Pretty's boy? He just left a few minutes ago. I'd be _happy_ to go looking for him, though."

Voldemort scoffed. "I'm sure you would."

Draco's silvery eyes were wide and frightened still, and Harry could hear the younger man's heart beating from across the room. He had obviously not had many dealings with Voldemort in person, despite his bragging in school. Harry stood fluidly, cocking his head at the younger Malfoy. "Shall I take you with me, Little Pretty?"

Quickly forgetting his situation, just as Harry knew he would, Draco scowled. "Excuse me? Just who are you, anyway?"

Harry heard Voldemort's displeased hiss, and held out his hand toward him. "Don't worry about it, Tom, I can handle this one." He turned to Draco with a wide grin, immediately causing the blond to shrink away at the sight of his fangs. "I am Mylläkkä, Little Pretty, the new partner to your Lord Voldemort. It's nice to see your father's genes are strong. Don't you belong at Hogwarts, though?"

Draco scowled again at the 'nickname', but quickly answered. "I have my own private floo connection from my room in Hogwarts to my room in my manor. I'm the only one who can go through it, but it is useful. I used it because I need to find my father."

Harry turned and gave a sweeping bow to Voldemort. "My dear Tom, I'll see you next week around this time, alright?"

Voldemort glared. "I don't know why I allow you to call me that."

"Because I'm me, why else?" Harry grinned, mockingly blowing a kiss. "Wish me luck finding Pretty!"

"If he kills you for coming on to him, it's your own fault."

Harry snorted and swept from the room, cocking his head for Draco to follow. He delivered a kick to the again-dozing Wormtail, smiling brightly as he walked down the halls. "So, Little Pretty, what was so important for you to scare yourself silly in front of the Dark Lord?"

The blond was wary of him, Harry could tell, because he was far too meek when faced with Mylläkkä. "I'm half Veela, and I had a confrontation with Harry Potter day before yesterday. I need to see my father about why he… _felt_ differently so that my father can inform our lord…" The blond trailed off and wrinkled his nose. "You feel the same, somewhat."

Harry suppressed a grin. Malfoy could be so naïve. He didn't mind that the blond might figure him out, he was a Slytherin and wouldn't use it against him until it was beneficial to him. And before that could happen, Harry would be sure to educate the young Malfoy heir as to just who he was dealing with. "Describe the feeling for me, then."

"I can't. It was just… like… an addition to his aura, his presence. Something that wasn't there on the train ride home at the beginning of summer. You have it too, but it's much stronger on you. It's like an interference, a separate entity…."

Harry debated several minutes on whether to make it easy on the blond or not before deciding not to; he was far too entertained watching the proud Malfoy flounder. He smirked over his shoulder. "Well, I'm sure Pretty is around here somewhere, so we'll be sure to find him."

Draco followed the elder man with an obvious reluctant trepidation.

Lucius was found easily, lording over lower Death Eaters and generally making an ass out of himself. This was the reason his interest in the elder Malfoy would stay purely physical. He hated people who thought too highly of themselves. Voldemort had reasons; he was the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries, commanded followers across the British Isles and into Europe. Valerian had the right as well; he was considered the Lord of the Immortal realm and had been for centuries, garnering the respect of thousands in several races. Harry, himself, could even probably get away with it if he so chose; he was the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, and a formidable foe who commanded more power and knowledge than many adult wizards would ever hope to, and all at the age of twenty six.

Lucius Malfoy, on the other hand, was nothing. Yes, he was a moderately powerful wizard, had influence and 'pure' blood… but he hoisted himself on an imaginary platform, believing everyone else should be bowing to him, ignoring the fact that he regularly dirtied his knees before a half-blooded half-snake madman. Not that Harry was insulting Tom, of course, but the facts remained.

Harry sidled up to the oblivious blond, Draco trailing like a puppy. Harry grinned and pressed himself into Lucius's back, resting his chin on the older man's shoulder. "Hello again, Pretty. Miss me yet?"

He felt Lucius stiffen against him, and Harry reveled in the fact that all the lower Death Eaters were backing away in recognition of their new Lord. Harry was impressed that the Malfoy had already learned his lesson after his _Crucio_, though Harry didn't hold much hope that the lesson would be retained. For now, though…

A wicked grin spread across Harry's lips as he turned his head to Lucius's neck. Lips ghosted over the pale skin. "Is anything wrong, Lucius?"

"My lord," the blond ground out through clenched teeth. "I would appreciate some distance between us."

Harry let his nose press into the pale skin before him, tracing up along the blond's jugular. "And I would appreciate some respect, Pretty. You seem to be lacking."

Harry could feel Lucius's breathing hitch before he spoke. "I apologize for stepping out of line earlier, my lord. It was a foolish mistake and will not happen again."

"See that it doesn't," Harry murmured, no longer caring what Lucius had to say. The scent of the man's blood so close beneath the surface was fogging his thoughts, his senses captivated.

Harry flicked out his tongue to taste the alluring skin, letting it flit across the fluttering pulse point. He felt the man he was wrapped around stiffen and begin to pull away; he couldn't have that, now could he? With slitted eyes, Harry slammed the blond into a wall. He pinned Lucius's hands over his head and pressed himself into him, something like a purr coming from deep in his throat. "You smell _lovely_, Pretty… so tempting… so delicious…"

Whatever Lucius had been about to say was cut off as Harry scraped his fangs over the delicate skin of his neck, pulling an undignified, strangled noise from Lucius's throat.

Harry's purring grew as he trailed his tongue up Lucius's neck, moving along the jaw until he could brush them with Lucius's. "I want to taste you, Pretty."

And Harry always made sure to get what he wanted. The kiss was short but deep and lustful, and Harry was pleased when Lucius responded despite his usual protests. If he didn't have to make it back to Hogwarts or had it been earlier in the evening, he would have been happy to have his way with the blond. He tasted as wonderful as he smelt, and Harry's only thought was to have more of it. Arrogant, insufferable prick or not, Lucius was certainly an entertaining challenge. Harry would relish in the game.

His mouth ran down a strong jaw line and his fangs nicked the skin. He licked across the minuscule amount of blood that welled there and nearly swooned, a moan escaping his throat. "Pretty, you'll let me taste you, won't you?"

In Lucius's lust, he nodded, and Harry ran his hand from the man's chest up his neck, over his cheek, and twining roughly in long pale hair. He yanked the man's head to the side and sunk his teeth into the tempting neck without any protests, a low groan from Lucius his only response. Harry grinned as he drank, his head spinning. Seemed his Pretty liked the pain. He would surely have fun with this at a later date.

He pulled away after only a few swallows, not wanting to knock the blond out. He licked the wound several times and nuzzled the spot softly, a smile lighting his face as he met hazy gray eyes. "Thank you, Pretty. We'll finish this another time."

He left Lucius that way, and nearly laughed aloud as he saw the shell-shocked look on Draco's face. He grinned as he patted the Malfoy heir's head as he passed, winking at the vacant expression. The other Death Eaters had wisely left at some point during the interaction, and Harry hummed as he made his way down the hall to the entry. What a nice evening.

He Apparated away.

* * *

It was nearly dawn when Harry returned to Hogwarts, a grin remaining on his face. He was tired but far from exhausted, a lightness having overtaken him from his visit to the Dark Lord's base of operations.

It was foolish that Harry did not pay attention as he ran with his inhuman speed back towards the castle, believing his invisibility cloak was enough to keep him hidden.

Hazel eyes watched him arrive, a complex charm allowing the person to see through invisibility. A calculating glint overtook those eyes, a rare smirk crossing thin lips. Though the famed 'Golden Boy' had only been back in Hogwarts for a day, the person had known immediately that something was different. Changed. New. And the person was glad; the war had finally turned in the Dark's favor.

The person would let Potter have his secrecy, and the person would keep theirs. They had remained undetected for years, they didn't plan to start getting caught now.

Dumbledore wouldn't see this coming if it smacked him in the face.

* * *

Harry strolled into the Potions classroom with an unconcerned air, eyes darting quickly to all corners of the room as he catalogued the details of the room in one fell sweep. The room had changed little from his memory, though now he noted more than he had in his teens. Across the back wall was a long row of jars on a high shelf, obviously for display rather than use. Seeing what appeared to be a unicorn horn in one jar, he had to assume it was for the rarest or barely legal ingredients. The stone ceiling was low, lending a claustrophobic air to the already small, dank room. The tables were aligned perfectly straight and Harry suspected they were held into perfect position by a spell, because nothing human could produce such accuracy.

Most obvious to him now, though, was an unremarkable banner that lay strung over the blackboard, its coloring matching the dungeon walls and the writing only marginally darker. Harry took in the seemingly nonsensical symbols with surprise before taking his seat, knowing Snape would soon enter the room. He quickly pulled out a quill and parchment and copied them down to study them more intently; it wouldn't do for him to show excessive attention to something he wasn't meant to understand, after all.

Severus Snape swooped into the room moments later, and Harry placed a second parchment over the first. He would wait until they were set to work to continue; Snape was nothing if not habitual, and every year always started out the same. Lecture rife with insults, derision, and unreachable expectations followed by impossible-to-answer questions, ending with 'silent time' reading the first chapter of their books and writing a foot-long essay on what they would be accomplishing in Potions class that year. Every year it had been the same assignment, and he didn't know why only Hermione seemed to preempt it by writing it over the summer. He had managed to half of it on the train ride once he'd gotten his books.

Hermione's quill was already scratching away beside him, the scowl on her face telling him she was still not over Ron having given up on the class. Speaking with McGonagall had done no good as Ron himself was against remaining in the class. In fact, other than Hermione and Harry, only Dean Thomas had continued the class. Both Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil had taken on a Teacher's Aide position under Sybil Trelawney, while Seamus Finnegan used the free block for a nap. It was probably rather fortuitous that after O.W.L.s classes became a combined affair; otherwise, it would have been the three of them against a nearly full class of Slytherins, as all but Crabbe and Goyle had continued.

Snape surveyed them with a distasteful moue. "I see that the completion of O.W.L.s has drastically cut out the more moronic of your number, though there are several of you I would still prefer to see gone." Snape didn't even try to hide who his eyes strayed to, a sneer lifting his lips as he gazed at Harry. "I assume, since you are not quite the loathsome parasites of society that your absent classmates are, that you will be able to keep up with the curriculum I have planned. If you fail to, you will be ejected from this class forcefully. Do we have an understanding?"

Harry laughed mentally at the looks on many of the students' faces; the two Hufflepuffs, in particular, looked shell-shocked. Snape was effective at intimidation, surely, even if Harry thought he failed miserably as a teacher.

"Now, who can tell me the basic properties of gurdyroot?"

Harry tuned out the question and answer session, waiting until Snape called on him. And he surely would. It would not be a start of year Potions class without his attempt at humiliating his least favorite student, after all.

It was a given, and so when Snape barked an acidic, "Potter!" in his direction, Harry wrapped the naïve persona he needed around him and set his face to a rebellious scowl instead of the derisive sneer he wished. Snape would learn, or Harry would kill him. And that was that.

He did wonder why Severus Snape had anything written in the language of Sonneillon in his classroom. His grasp on the dead demon languages was slippery at best, but some phrases were common enough to be remembered. He only recognized the first line, but the message summed the man up rather clearly.

_'Vengeance comes to those who wait.'_

* * *

"It wasn't Myrtle. I was young," Voldemort said slowly, quill grinding to a stop on the page. He didn't look up to meet Harry's eyes even as Harry stopped any pretense of work. "Very young the first time."

The week had passed with little excitement, and Harry found himself once again in Voldemort's office helping with paperwork. It wasn't exciting by any means, but he plied Voldemort with small talk to amuse himself. Usually, Voldemort didn't answer. Harry was secretly pleased that he had this time, even if it had taken him many long minutes to finally speak up. "Who was it?"

"A boy at the school I attended. He was never connected to me. It was before Dumbledore ever showed up at the orphanage, before I had even gotten a grasp on my powers. "

"What did he do?"

Voldemort's lipless mouth quirked, but there was no humor in the look. "Nothing horrible. He insulted my mother. I was under the impression at that age that my mother had been some beautiful queen who was forced to give me up. Beautiful, tragic… I saw her as a martyr. So when he said something defamatory… well, I didn't let it pass. I lost control. I don't even remember now what he said."

Harry sat back in his chair and pushed his hair behind one ear, then propped his head on his hand. "Did you ever regret it?"

"Never. Regret is for people unable to accept their own actions."

A sad smile curved Harry's lips. "It doesn't make us less prone to it."

"No… no, I suppose it doesn't, does it?"

Harry picked up the quill once more, shaking his head. "Death isn't something a child should have to deal with, no matter who is dealing it out."

"That, Potter, we can agree on. I think I might have hated myself if I had had a different life."

"If you would have had a different life, we wouldn't be here."

It was Harry this time that didn't want to meet the crimson eyes he could feel on him.

* * *

Voldemort sneered over the wreckage of his desk, half his mind cursing the demise of his carefully ordered paperwork while the other targeted the cause of the mess. "Potter, you are the most infuriating little shit I have ever had the displeasure of--"

"Shut the hell up, Tom," Harry snarled, wand still held out in front of him and bright eyes locked on crimson. "You started this by being a prat."

"And you decided to be the little Gryffindor fool you are, jumping into the situation without so much as a thought to the consequences?"

"I'd rather be a Gryffindor fool than a heartless Slytherin."

The slur was immature, and Voldemort felt supremely stupid that it managed to infuriate him. Potter's words should not matter in the slightest to him. But they did.

"We can't all be pure as you, Saint Potter."

Potter paused in mid-rant, eyes fluttering rapidly. "What?"

Voldemort gave a wry smirk, eyes shuttered. "You sound quite lovely from your moral highpoint, but how about opening your eyes to reality, Potter? Heartless is the way of the world. These _feelings_ you think that you experience are nothing but delusions of the human race. We care when it benefits us, we feel anger when we are spited, we are sad when we do not get our way. Emotion is a self-serving thing, and I prefer just as well to feel nothing."

"Nothing?" Potter's wand had dropped, and his eyes were narrowed. "Who's fooling themselves now, Tom?"

Voldemort refused to answer, simply setting his desk to rights. It wasn't long before Potter joined him, but it was a long time before either spoke again.

* * *

"What did you want to be when you were little?"

Voldemort glared at him without even meeting his eyes, a feat if Harry ever saw one. "Gods, Potter. Do you pull these conversations from your backside?"

Harry waved a hand. "Shut up, your Royal Pratness. I'm just curious. When you were a child, what did you want to grow up to be?"

Voldemort's jaw was twitching spastically, and Harry wondered if he was about to be cursed. But Voldemort only sighed and laid down his quill, reclining in his chair and lacing spidery fingers behind his head, peering at the ceiling. "Honestly? I never had a dream like that. My furthest dream was escaping the hellhole of an orphanage. I hated people and didn't want to work with them. I hated using my intelligence to benefit those rotten excuses for humans. I hated the idea of doing anything but escaping to some far-off place where I could be alone."

"You had no goals? No silly dreams as a child? Come on, Tom, you're just as human as I am… well, vaguely speaking, of course."

Voldemort snorted. "If I did… well, I don't remember them now."

"That's… sad."

"Maybe it is, Potter."

* * *

"First year."

"What are you starting now, Potter?"

Harry ignored the drawl and tapped his chin with the eagle feather. "In first year you told me that I was very much like you. Did you really think so, or were you just trying to eliminate me as your enemy?"

A snort was accompanied by the scratching of Voldemort's own quill. "Lazy shit, you're just trying to get out of work again."

Harry gave a sheepish grin and turned back to his paper. "No answer, then?"

"Hmm." Voldemort signed with a flourish at the bottom of the page. "I think at the time I saw similarities, but I couldn't have predicted the truth of how alike we were."

"Except I'm better looking."

Harry couldn't hold back the smirk as he felt a glare leveled on him, humming under his breath. Voldemort huffed but didn't retort.

"Fate is a funny thing, hmm?"

"Fate is a security blanket for those too afraid to take charge of their lives."

"Perhaps…" Harry sighed and pushed his finger in a circle on the desktop. "But sometimes believing in fate is the only thing keeping us going."

"I think a person that survives solely on the trust of fate needs to reexamine their life."

Harry pushed down the urge to ask how he should begin.

* * *

Harry leaned back against the manor's gate, inhaling slowly through his nose and feeling rather than attempting to see anything in the darkness around him. September had come to a close and October was already halfway through, and Harry could feel the chill in the air. Eyes closed and face upturned, Harry let the raindrops filter over his skin and soak him to the bone, relaxing back against wrought iron.

"Potter, you barmy brat, what are you doing out here?"

Slowly, lethargically, eyelids fluttered open, and Harry trained eyes he knew would be exceptionally bright on Voldemort. "Feeling. It has been a long time since I experienced the rain."

"Where have you been?"

The question was casual, but Harry could practically feel the curiosity Voldemort was restraining. They had discussed many things in the last weeks, but the last ten years of Harry's life was not one of them. Harry had given a brief outline, but had stuck to his education rather than the people or circumstances around him. The rain dissolved an inch from Voldemort's skin or robes, and Harry wondered what spell he was using. "Does it matter?" he answered eventually. Eyes again slid shut as the rain picked up, and Harry let out a deep sigh as he arched up toward the rain.

"No, I don't suppose it does. But the rain is hardly exceptional."

Harry's head lolled to the side and he gave another smirk. "Exceptionality isn't the only thing that makes thing enjoyable. Sometimes the mundane can be endlessly exciting when you are deprived of it. But anyway, I think the rain is lovely. I always loved it."

Harry hadn't realized how close Voldemort had gotten until he heard the disbelieving scoff from his side, the creak of the gate as a body joined his. "Stupid child."

"Perhaps."

And the rain fell down.

* * *

"Harry? Why are you doing homework? C'mon, mate, let's go flying for a bit! First game of the season is in a month, we need to be ready, y'know?"

Harry ground his teeth as he ignored the redhead, continuing to write his Potions essay as if Ron wasn't there. He would be damned if he didn't get good grades this year; he was a grown man with knowledge that surpassed most of the other students (barring, perhaps, Hermione), and there was no way he was going to look like an idiot. He couldn't show the full extent of his knowledge, but he could at least present himself as a passably intelligent student.

"Harry, mate, what's with you lately? You've turned into _Hermione_!"

"Ronald! That's just rude! I'm glad Harry is taking his education seriously for once, I mean, you could learn from him! This year and next are the most important we will face, and I can't believe you are letting yourself get left behind…"

Harry tuned the conversation out with much exasperation. This was the same thing that had happened every day for the last week, and Harry was being slowly driven insane by his once best friends. He loved them, surely, but the utter _childishness_ of the two of them put together was taking its toll. He had work to attend to anyway.

It was nearly Halloween now, the air colder and the weather harsher. Every week Harry had managed to get away undetected to meet with Tom, and their plans at the Ministry were coming along well. Hogwarts was another matter altogether. Harry was wary to risk his or Dante's positions to overthrow Dumbledore early; besides, he had hoped to have created the seeds of doubt before taking down the Light icon. It wouldn't do for the old man to go down as a martyr, after all.

Without a word, Harry closed his Potions book, cast a drying charm on the newly written ink, rolled up his assignment scroll, and walked away. Neither of the two arguing sixth years noticed.

With a long sigh, Harry pushed his hand through his short hair, annoyed at the flyaway spikes that perpetually stood on end, existing for the sole purpose of helping along Harry's dwindling sanity into nothingness. He needed a break from his fifteen year old persona, and he needed it _now._ His feet automatically set him on a path towards Dante's rooms. Technically, it could get the elder vampire fired that Harry knew the location of his rooms, but with all the rules Dumbledore bent for him, he couldn't see it being a problem if he was caught.

As if fate was once again attempting to be contrary for the sake of it, Harry's senses alerted him to another presence approaching. There was nowhere to hide in this stretch of hallway, and no time to go another direction. Harry cursed mentally and shoved his hands into his pockets.

It was no surprise to Harry, whom was used to the worst things happening by now, that it was Severus Snape who _swooped_ into the dark hallway, piercing black eyes immediately homing in on Harry and a challenging smirk lighting his features. "Well, well, Potter. Whatever are you doing in _this_ wing of the castle? I'm sure you know it is forbidden to students. Whatever shall we do?" he drawled sarcastically.

Harry had to try very hard not to roll his eyes. "Really, sir? I apologize; I had not been aware. I needed to get an assignment from Professor Pierce, so I thought I would try to find his rooms."

Severus sneered. "And you thought it would be alright to traipse around in the teacher's wing? For shame, Potter."

Harry very nearly punched the man simply for the thrill of it, but held himself back with tense muscles. "I apologize, sir, for unknowingly breaking the rules. I will go back to my common room now."

Surprise flickered over the Potion Master's features for a quick moment before thin lips pursed. "See that you do, Potter. Detention with me tonight after dinner."

Harry cursed mentally; his meeting with Voldemort was tonight. He decided that he would very much love to make the Dark Lord _Crucio_ his professor, and decided to bring it up before the next Death Eater meeting. "Yes, sir," he ground out, brightening eyes flashing.

With that, Harry spun on his heel back in the direction he came, intent on waiting until the snarky professor was gone so he could get to Dante. A plan would have to be made; he couldn't risk his automatic Reversion happening while he was stuck with Snape. His weekly meetings with Voldemort had become his time to renew the potion's effects. He scowled darkly once he was out of Snape's sight, a million causes of seemingly accidental death running through his head. He could kill the git easily and get away with it, he knew… but he still believed Snape had his uses.

He waited for the Professor's footsteps to fade away before he dashed around the corner, no longer caring to hide his inhuman speed. He didn't want to risk another run in with a staff member. He skidded to a halt outside Dante's rooms and hissed out the Parseltongue override password; a simple _/Open/ _at any non-portrait door did the trick.

Dante looked up from his book, raising an eyebrow at Harry. "What brings you here?"

Harry huffed and threw himself into a squashy chair, tapping his foot against the hardwood floor. "I needed to get the hell away from the immature fools I call my friends. Merlin, was I half this bad?"

Dante rolled feline blue eyes. "Of course you were. It comes with the territory of being sixteen."

"Hermione has turned seventeen already, and she's so mature for her age… but put her in a room with Ron and she reverts to a bloody first year."

"Of course they seem immature to you; you're a twenty-six year old man playing the part of a child. It may not seem to be that big of a gap, but think of the ten years you spent in Sceaduwe. You aren't the same boy you were last you saw them."

"I suppose not," Harry said disconsolately, picking at the hem of his robes. "I'm just getting restless, I guess. There is only so much gathering and planting of information I can do… I feel so damned useless. It will be months yet before our plans can be set into motion. I want out of this brat factory! I want to be going on raids more than once a month, and I want to be able to be myself in front of whomever I chose. This is getting ridiculous!"

Dante had been peering into his book during Harry's rant, and looked up after several long silent moments. "Oh, are you done whinging yet? I wasn't sure… you seemed so happy to continue."

Harry scowled.

"You're being a fool, Mylläkkä. How do you expect to handle immortality if you get this antsy after a _month_?"

"Nearly_ two_ months."

"Now you just sound like a child."

"It must be all the ones I'm surrounded with -- present company included."

Per usual, the vampire didn't rise to the bait, the slight lift of one golden eyebrow the only acknowledgment Harry got.

"Whatever, Dante."

"If it would make you feel better, Mylläkkä, you should start feeling out those you wish to tell. It would not hurt to have more people on your side, aware of who you really are. Let a select few see past the Harry Potter they think they know."

"Ah, and then one runs to Dumbledore and I have to fight a duel on campus, all the teachers and students on his side, and wards preventing me from using most of my favorite curses."

"Again, you're being a petulant child. Stop acting like you actually _are_ a student, and start acting like the Lord you are supposed to be. I refuse to deal with you when you're like this."

Harry ran his hands over his face, grimacing. "I apologize, Dante. The stress is getting to me."

"Close your eyes, relax, and try to think of people you think could handle the truth. I'll read until you've finished. It will clear your mind to think of something rational right now."

Harry gave a nod to the blond and smiled gratefully. "Alright, then."

* * *

Severus Snape prided himself on being an observant man.

No one got away with anything in his classroom that he didn't want them to, no students managed to slip past his guard. He noticed things others would ignore, and learned things from them that others could not fathom.

Hence how Severus knew that his favorite student had been correct. There was something wrong with Harry Potter.

Oh, the boy seemed the same. He laughed with his friends, mouthed off to authority, and brooded sullenly like any angst-filled teen. Weasley and Granger were never far from his side. But Severus Snape saw deeper.

He saw the shrewd looks that overtook Potter's previously oblivious features. He saw the annoyed, quickly covered glares shot at Potter's friends. He saw the dark expressions that would pass over the boy's countenance, and threatening smirks that often peeked through when the boy was lost in thought. His temper, which had always been quick, was now glacial rather than blazing.

Oh, Severus saw all of this. Which was why after his encounter with the boy, he had immediately gone to his rooms to retrieve a Dark artifact from the Prince line which concealed one's aura. He didn't want the vampire -- Pierce, his name was -- feeling him, after all. Severus's cold black eyes narrowed as he neared the rooms of the new Defense teacher; he was sure Potter had come back here, no matter if he had said he was leaving.

Perhaps the two were having an illicit affair? The thought made Severus need to stifle a grin. He could get the vampire and the brat out of the school in one blow! It was brilliant!

As he crept up to the door, the voices leaked out softly. The pair had forgotten a silencing charm, luckily for Severus.

"Damnit, Dante. I forgot to tell you… you wouldn't believe that git Snape! He gave me a detention tomorrow evening! Now what am I going to do?"

Severus snarled silently; the disrespect of that brat! The whiny little snot-nosed…

"Calm down. I will… convince the man otherwise."

A dark eyebrow rose; the vampire thought he would do _anything_ to him? Pitiful.

"You'll do no such thing, Dante. I still don't know where his allegiances lie, and until I do you are to remain inconspicuous…" The boy coughed and Severus could practically hear the grin in his voice. "Well, as inconspicuous as _you_ get."

Now a chill ran down Severus's spine. Why did the boy care of his allegiance?

"Brat."

"But you love me anyway."

Forgetting the apprehensive feeling, Severus's ears perked once more. So the two _were_ lovers!

A snort. "Whatever you say, Mylläkkä. Have you been bothering that poor blond lately?"

A laugh. "Lucius? Ah, I miss Pretty… I've hardly had any time to entertain myself with him."

"He's twice your age."

"He is not! He's only in his forties!"

A sigh. "You are such a child."

"And_ you're_ an old man, Dante. Since when does age matter to Vampires, anyway?"

"It doesn't, but the blond is not a vampire."

"No, he's half Veela though. So is Little Pretty… I figure he's going to catch on soon. Tom and I have a bet going. Tom is sure it will take me coming out and saying it, but I think Little Pretty will get it by Christmas."

"And you are not worried?"

"Nah, not really. Tom and I talked it over, and it won't be detrimental for me to be found out but members of the Dark Sect… in fact, it might be for the best. After all, think of the morale boost it will be to find out that the Boy-Who-Lived is Voldie's partner! The only problem is the question of Snape's allegiance. If he's with us, he needs to learn some respect, and if he's against us… well, then I'll be happy to use him as a snack."

"Mylläkkä, if you fed from him, I would be blamed as the only known vampire."

"Ah… damn."

Severus was sure his heart had stopped. Had coherent thought been possible, he probably would have denied the revelations until his last breath. But in that striking moment of clarity, he could only cycle through the thoughts on an infinite loop.

Harry Potter was a vampire.

Harry Potter was Dark.

Harry Potter was the Dark Lord's partner Mylläkkä.

* * *

Revised: 3/18/09 (This chapter is cheesy! OMFG!)

* * *


	9. Fealty

Disclaimer: I do not own.

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Fealty // fidelity to a lord_

* * *

Harry looked up from his half meditative state. "What am I going to do, Dante? This meeting with Tom is important; we have to put the finishing touches on our plan for Halloween."

Dante tapped his fingers against the hard cover of his book, face expressionless but eyes narrowed. "You need to discover his loyalties or kill him. Simple as that. If he is loyal, you tell him who you are and you go to your meeting… if he is not, then you kill him."

Harry sighed and crumpled in half, hitting his forehead on his knees, "I didn't want risks like this this early. I don't want any hints thrown out until at least Christmas. I can't afford to be found out, yet!"

"You need to discover his loyalties, Mylläkkä, it is not a matter of your wants. You cannot _afford_ to have a traitor running around."

Harry sighed and tugged on his short hair roughly, yanking it while his eyes glossed over. "But how… "

Dante let out a huff of air. "Well, I hope your acting skills are up to par."

"Eh?"

Dante closed his eyes and waited for Harry to actually _use_ his enhanced senses; he knew when the younger vampire had by the curses that left his lips.

"Where is his aura?!"

"He obviously underestimated me, thinking that merely masking his aura would keep me in the dark. However, he is wearing boots on stone, no matter how softly he walks it resonates."

Harry cursed again and met eyes with his instructor. "So we put on a show, then?"

Dante smirked. "Of course, Mylläkkä."

Harry waited until he could feel Snape's heartbeat just outside the room before beginning, mentally scowling at what he was being forced into. "Damnit, Dante. I forgot to tell you… you wouldn't believe that git Snape! He gave me a detention tomorrow evening… now what am I going to do?"

"Calm down. I will… convince the man otherwise." Dante let a small smirk drift across his face, and the implications nearly sent Harry chuckling.

Trying to retain his straight face, Harry sighed. "You'll do no such thing, Dante. I still don't know where his allegiances lie, and until I do you are to remain inconspicuous… " he coughed to cover his amusement. "Well, as inconspicuous as _you_ get."

"Brat."

"But you love me anyway," Harry said with a sly grin, making Dante snort and roll his eyes.

"Whatever you say, Mylläkkä. Have you been bothering that poor blond lately?"

Harry laughed and closed his eyes, grinning widely. "Lucius? Ah, I miss Pretty… I've hardly had any time to entertain myself with him."

"He's twice your age," Dante deadpanned.

"He is not! He's only in his forties!" Harry waved his arms about, fully immersed in his role and ignoring the exasperated glare from Dante.

A sigh. "You are such a child."

Harry glared with really annoyance. "And_ you're_ an old man, Dante. Since when does age matter to Vampires, anyway?"

"It doesn't, but the blond is not a vampire."

"No, he's half Veela though. So is Little Pretty. I figure he's going to catch on soon. Tom and I have a bet going. Tom is sure it will take me coming out and saying it, but I think Little Pretty will get it by Christmas."

"And you are not worried?" Harry understood that Dante was trying to force him back on course and sighed, nodding to the blond.

"Nah, not really. Tom and I talked it over, and it won't be detrimental for me to be found out but members of the Dark Sect… in fact, it might be for the best. After all, think of the morale boost it will be to find out that the Boy-Who-Lived is Voldie's partner! The only problem is the question of Snape's allegiance. If he's with us, he needs to learn some respect, and if he's against us… well, then I'll be happy to use him as a snack."

Dante rolled his eyes more exaggeratedly than Harry had ever seen him, obviously exasperated at Harry's obvious 'acting'. "Mylläkkä, if you fed from him, I would be blamed as the only known vampire."

"Ah… damn."

They both glanced to the door when they heard Snape take a clumsy step backward, and Harry nodded to Dante. Harry should take care of this. He stalked to the door and flung it open, the smirk on his face unpleasant. "Well hello there Professor… fancy seeing you here."

Severus's black eyes were wide as Harry grabbed him by the front of his robes and yanked him into the room, uncaring of any reaction the snarky man might have. Once the door was spelled shut behind them, Harry released Severus and strolled back to his chair, reclining slightly and peering at the man over his false glasses, "It's bad manners to eavesdrop, you know."

Snape's lip curled, a bit of himself shining through. "You little brat!"

Harry's eyes narrowed as he stood once more, stalking towards the snarling man. "I would consider showing some respect, Snape. You are in a very precarious position."

"And just what do you think you can do?" Severus snarled, refusing to take a step back from the short sixteen year old, despite the chill of apprehension that jolted down his spine at the look in Killing Curse eyes. "You arrogant little brat, do you think you're playing a game? Strutting around like you own the world… do you think the Dark is something you can play in?"

"Listen to me now," Harry hissed, the palpable fury in his eyes finally forcing his Potions professor back against the wall, black eyes wary. Harry had no patience for this man. "You're a presumptuous, sarcastic, greasy, bitter old berk. You've done nothing but try your damndest to make my life a living hell because my father, whom I might remind you I have never known, was an arrogant git. I realize this. However, despite your astounding intelligence and cunning, you seem unable to reconcile with the fact that I am _not_ my father."

Harry pulled out his wand carelessly, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger before harshly jabbing it forward under Snape's chin, feeling vindicated by the harsh intake of air. He kept the wand pushed painfully against the man's neck as he continued speaking, thrilled as he saw the telltale signs of discoloration already forming. "Despite my problems with your atrocious attitude _Severus_, I respect you and your sacrifices. Thusly, I have decided to extend a chance for you to live through this year. Trust me, I have no qualms whatsoever in killing you where you stand, and I know at least a dozen ways to do it that wouldn't be traceable. But I think you are an intelligent man. You've been forced to risk yourself spying for years under one master or another with little personal gain to yourself, dodging scrutiny from both sides. Now, I am giving you a choice."

He let the pressure of the wand lessen minutely, but the look in his eyes didn't falter. "You can either suck up your conceited pride, work with the son of your childhood enemy, and be free of spying at the end of the school year, or you can have your corpse found at the bottom of the Astronomy tower tomorrow morning. I know plenty of ways to kill you that would keep suspicion off myself and my associate here," he waved a hand in Dante's general direction, "so don't think the blocks on all the good curses will stop me."

* * *

Severus's snarl remained in place, but he knew a corner when he was backed into one. He would not live to see another day if he crossed this boy. He loathed the brat in front of him with every fiber of his being, his excuses about not knowing his father be damned. But he knew power when he saw it, and currently power was roiling around Harry Potter, almost tangible in the air around him. Severus had been playing both sides for as long as he could remember, walking the fence with a precision others could not dream of. He had perfectly skirted the edges of Dark and Light, ill-content to wind up on the losing side.

So he had bided his time, working intimately within the Light, directly under Dumbledore's ever-watching twinkling eyes. Dumbledore, for all his good intentions, played with them all like chess pieces. And Severus was his Dark Knight, black painted white painted black again, and deeply embroiled in the enemy's side. Dumbledore was visibly saddened to send Severus on the dangerous tasks he set, but Severus could always see that gleam enter the old man's eyes that spoke of 'Anything for the Greater Good.' His manipulations were so cloaked that few ever even knew he was controlling their every move.

The Dark Lord was a different matter altogether. He was cruel, cold, and conniving. If he didn't like something you did, you were in pain so deep that you wished for death. If you _really_ managed to anger him, you knew no more than the bright green of _Avada Kedavra_. He was callous and cold, uncaring what problems he may bring you so long as it brought him his ends. Severus's two 'Masters' were alike in this way. But the Dark Lord took no care to hide what he was like. No one entered into his service expecting candy and sunshine. When one took the Dark Mark, they knew they were signing up for torture sessions and killing. But they also knew that the Dark Sect would bring about change in a world that so sorely needed it.

Severus had been Dark for as long as he could remember. He brought death upon others without batting an eyelash, traversed the shadows with ease. He had been sorted into Slytherin for a reason, after all; he craved power and could manipulate any situation to fit his needs, and was one of the most cunning people alive in the Wizarding world. How else would he have stayed alive this long without having any clear loyalties?

But here he was staring into bright green eyes, painfully familiar eyes, and he knew the war was lost for the Light. Dumbledore may have been the Light's icon, but Harry Potter was its weapon. He was the one everyone expected to end the war. And Severus had a sinking suspicion that this young man _would_ be the one to end the war… but not for the side everyone expected him to. This Potter was ruthless and calculating and he had blood on his hands. Severus knew the look of a killer. There was still empathy in those eyes that were the perfect mirror of Lily Evans, but it was drown by the will to do _anything_ to get what he wanted. Severus was sure of this. And so, Severus clenched his jaw.

"Fine, _Potter_. I have no will to die."

Harry smirked and let off the pressure of his wand a little more. "Remember what I said about respect, Severus? If you do not wish to die you are going to have to acknowledge me as your Lord. I don't give a damn when you think of me, but you _will_ give me deference. Can you handle that?"

Black eyes narrowed to slits. "Yes," he managed to grind out.

"Good." Harry released his hold and pocketed his wand. "Now, you're going to let me out of detention, because I absolutely _have_ to meet with Tom tonight. Halloween is in five days, you know."

Severus hid his clenched fists. "Fine."

"What was that, _Severus_?"

A hissing noise escaped between clenched teeth. "Yes, my lord."

"Ah, good."

Potter was far too smug, grin tilting his mouth. Severus wished he could cuff the boy upside his moronic Potter head.

"For now, I want you to keep your eyes open. I need to know what the students are talking about in regards to the war, in regards to me. I want to know the names of students who are questioning Dumbledore. I want to know if there are any beings seeing things they shouldn't about me. Can you handle this, Severus?"

"Yes, my lord."

"You can go now, then."

Severus took in a deep breath, nodding his head curtly before spinning on his heel and sweeping from the room, scowl deepened to frightening proportions. He could feel Potter grinning behind his back.

"Well, that went well, didn't it Dante?"

Dante's sigh was the last thing Severus heard, and it was pleasing to know that he wasn't the only one Potter drove to the brink of sanity.

* * *

Harry sashayed his way into Voldemort's office with a raised eyebrow, seeing the two masked Death Eaters that hurriedly bowed to him and ran out the door. "Terrorizing the minions again, Tom? Isn't that bad form?"

Voldemort didn't bother looking up from the paper he was hurriedly marking and scowled. "You're late, brat."

"Well excuse me, but your little minion Snape decided to eavesdrop on Dante and I. He knows now, by the way."

Crimson eyes shot up to meet verdant ones. "And?"

"He's a self-preserving little bugger; we have nothing to fear from him."

"Well, now that you're here I hope you're ready for a raid. This will be bloodier than the last one."

Harry eyes lit up with a grin. "Oh? Where are we going, the Ministry?"

A snort. "Hardly. We have not progressed nearly that far."

"I hope you aren't planning some muggle massacre again, Tom. We've discussed the disadvantages to it."

"Not a massacre, no, but we are going after some muggles."

Harry raised an eyebrow before the smug look on Voldemort's face made sense. "Oh you've got to be kidding me! Why in the hell are we doing _that_?"

Voldemort's smug look didn't dim. "Because it would be a perfect deterrent for Halloween. No one will look twice at Harry Potter being dismayed over his only living family's death, giving you more time to work out the kinks in the plan."

Harry sighed and ran his hand over his face, glaring at the older man. "And if I object?"

"Why would you? You told me the stories."

And Harry had. After the last Death Eater's meeting the two had spent several hours relaying some of the more memorable moments of their lives… from the good to the bad. Harry was unceasingly amazed by how comfortable he felt in his former nemesis's presence, even speaking of things he had never told a soul. Perhaps it was the true similarities they shared that erased all Harry's qualms of sharing his less than stellar childhood, the knowledge that of anyone he knew, the reptilian man would understand. Likewise, Voldemort had spared little thought to sharing his own experiences with Harry, from the first true friend he'd made to a severe beating he had received from some of the older boys in the orphanage when he was five. Harry had nearly been late back from that meeting, hardly arriving before dawn.

"Yes, and I don't give a damn if they live or die, but would you call off the raid if I asked you to?"

Solemnly, crimson eyes met with piercing green and held, the two just staring for long minutes. "No."

Harry stiffened and planted his hands on the Dark Lord's desk, his lip curving in a snarl. "And why _not_?"

"Because they are the type of muggle that deserves extermination, Potter," Voldemort hissed back, leaning closer to the fuming man. "And I will see them dead for treating a wizard that way."

Harry blinked several times before a sly smile crept over his lips. "Oh Tom… " he sung out.

Voldemort stiffened and looked away from the mischievous eyes. "What in the hell are you looking at me like that for, brat?"

"I know your secret!"

"You do not, you little twerp! Now get out of here and prepare for the raid!"

Harry ignored him and poked Voldemort in the side of his bald head. "You _care_, don't you? The big, bad, evil Dark Lord _cares_ about Harry Potter!"

Voldemort snarled and shoved 13 ½ inches of yew into Harry's face. "Shut your damned mouth, Potter."

Unfazed, Harry grinned. "You _care_!"

"_Cruor incondite!_"_(1)_ Voldemort seethed out, Harry barely managing to fall into a dodging roll in time.

"You asshole, that nearly hit me!" Harry shouted, hands balling into fists. The spell would have rendered nearly all his consumed blood useless and forced him to have more _immediately_ while contending with terrible, debilitating pain, whereas it would have killed someone fully human nearly instantly.

"That was the point."

Harry was used to this by now. Several times over the last two months they had argued heavily enough to end up dueling, usually when Harry continued prodding the reptilian man on subjects he preferred to ignore. The insinuation or outright accusation of having any feelings beyond the more base ones was something Voldemort did not take kindly to.

Harry shot back a Bone-Twisting hex that would have left the older man unable to walk for a few days had it hit, but Harry knew already of the surprising agility that Voldemort possessed. He merely slid his body fluidly to the left and fired a Severing Charm Harry's way, managing to graze the young Vampire's arm.

"Merlin, you can be _such_ a prick!"

"And you are a child," Voldemort hissed, his voice automatically taking on the snake-like quality in his anger.

"My lords," a drawl came from the doorway, instantly perking Harry's attention. "We should be leaving soon."

Lucius stood in the doorway with a cool face; he had ended up interrupting these fights already three times, he was used to seeing the two bicker. Though he couldn't figure out why his lord put up with the sass of the vampire, he assumed there was more to the equation than he was aware of. The power that emanated from the twenty-something Vampire was shocking at times, clearly reminding Lucius that the annoyingly cheeky man who wouldn't stop coming onto him was, in fact, powerful enough to reconcile the Dark Lord to partnership.

"We will be right along, Lucius," Voldemort hissed, obviously still annoyed but visibly restraining his temper.

Harry cocked his head at Voldemort with a rare serious expression. "Why do you always have to fight over this crap, Tom? Is it really worth it?"

Voldemort ignored him and pulled off his black cloak, walking to a small wardrobe against the far wall and pulling out his customary blood red robes.

Harry sighed and shook his head, steeling back his shoulders and focusing instead on what was soon to come.

He was going to enjoy making the Dursley's scream.

* * *

_(1) Cruor incenditur _is something like Burning blood. Thanks to Ammene.

Revised: 3/18/09


	10. Anathema

Disclaimer: I do not own.

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Anathema // a person or thing accursed or consigned to damnation or destruction._

* * *

They appeared on the corner of Wisteria Walk and Privet Drive with little fuss, the small group unnoticed in the dark night on the suburban muggle street. Even as out of place as they were -- Voldemort's snake-like face and crimson robes, Harry's glowing eyes and waist-length hair, Severus and Lucius's black cloaks and masks -- they drew no attention on the moonless night.

Voldemort jerked his hand in a signal for the men to follow him down the block, heading down the street towards Number 4. Harry sighed internally at his friend's bad mood, sidling up to Severus. "You will be listening to me tonight, you know. I lead here."

The man glowered behind his mask, Harry could tell, but he said nothing but for a muttered affirmative and jerky nod. Harry wasn't in the mood to argue with him over this. Snape was only coming because Voldemort wanted him to be able to report the activities of the night back to the Order of the Phoenix. Harry was not pleased with this, but Voldemort's attitude was already foul that night, and Harry didn't want to have to deal with the reptilian man getting any worse.

"My lord, what of the wards?" Severus asked in a low tone, breaking Harry's reverie. The question, though, had been directed to Voldemort.

"The resurrection ritual imbued me with the boy's blood. The Blood Wards will not stop me."

"And the rest of us, my lord?" Lucius put in hesitantly. "Surely the vampire… "

Harry snorted in amusement. "Don't worry yourself about me, Pretty," he purred gliding closer to the blond and letting their sides brush together. "I'll be fine."

Lucius growled under his breath, his words coming out strained. "I was not worried about you, _Lord Mylläkkä_. I simply do not wish to be caught and carted off to Azkaban again because of the wards around the Potter brat's domicile alerting the Aurors."

Harry snickered quietly. "No worries, Pretty. You'll see." Harry turned away and waved his hand at Voldemort, signaling the house they were approaching as the right one. "Here we are."

The wizards cringed at the disgustingly muggle home, identical in nearly every way to those around it with its perfectly manicured lawn and hedges, flowers blooming along the walk even with the chilling season. Harry ignored their responses and made his way up to the door confidently, though pausing on the stoop. He really didn't know how they were going to go about this. "Eh, Tom? Are we going for stealth or what?"

Voldemort finally met his eyes, crimson calmed significantly from an hour prior. "Stealth. I wish to have plenty of time to play with the muggles."

Harry's eyes lit up. "I have to agree."

"Finally ready to stop being a sentimental brat, then?"

Ignoring the looks from the other two men, Harry glared. "That wasn't the point, Tom. I was angry because you refused to acknowledge my opinion in the matter and then proceeded to play your stupid little 'I'm a Dark Lord and therefore have no emotion - blah blah blah' game."

Voldemort smirked darkly. "Glad to see this outing will be fun for you."

"The tortured screams of the obtuse ringing in my ears? What better form of entertainment is there?"

"Well, I'm hard-pressed not to agree with you, really, but you're forgetting sex."

Harry merely chuckled, grinning slyly over his shoulder at the trio. He flicked his Blackthorn wand and the door eased open. "Shall we, friends?"

Harry again ignored the growls from both Death Eaters, walking casually into the house he had seen only months before. Nothing had changed whatsoever barring perhaps a few new pictures of Dudley's rotund visage, making Harry's gag reflex act up. How he hated these people.

"Good Merlin," Lucius drawled. "What a disgusting example of a muggle. Who is this whale?"

Harry snickered. "Dudley Dursley, age sixteen. Spoilt rotten brat and all around tyrant-in-training. Besides eating, his favorite hobbies include heckling girls in front of the grocery mart, beating up small children, and seeing how many followers he can amass with brainpower as low as his. Think of Goyle… except without a wand to back up his nonsense."

Gray eyes cut towards him. "How do you know?"

An amused smile was all the answer he got before Harry walked away, gliding through the living room to the stairs. Voldemort, who had followed closely behind suddenly froze in place, making Harry turn to him. The Dark Lord was staring furiously, a hand pointing forward. Harry followed his eyes and cringed. His cupboard. Harry nodded to the unspoken question.

"Surely you jest?" Voldemort hissed, crimson eyes nearly as bright as Harry's own.

"It wasn't so bad, you know. I was a small child to begin with, and the stairs are steep enough to create quite a bit of room. It could have been worse."

"_Could have been worse_?!" Voldemort spat, directing his anger on Harry and advancing, the other two men in the room totally forgotten. "These muggle filth locked a magical child into a small space with no light. They _neglected _a wizard without food for days, only allowing him freedom when they needed a House Elf. You _dare_ to stand up for these pigs?!"

"Stop spouting off my damned life story as if I don't know, Tom. I am not standing up for them. I just know it could have been worse for me. I could have been sent to an orphanage like you, or left on the damned streets. They could have decided ignoring the little freak wasn't enough and that they needed to beat the magic out of me. My childhood might have been shit, but I damned well know it could've been worse."

Voldemort was seething, eyes narrowed to slits. Harry stepped closer, leaning forward until he was sure the pair's subordinates would not overhear him. "Don't get pissed at me again Tom, but I have to point out that for someone who denies giving a damn about the rest of humanity, you seem very upset."

Harry leaned away in case of retaliation, but was surprised when a skeletal hand just raised up and rubbed irritably over a bald head. "You're going to be the death of me, Potter."

"No no, Tom my dear, that's so last year."

Voldemort scoffed and cut his eyes toward the two Death Eaters. Severus's stance was unchanged, though his form was stiff as he took in the truths of Harry's upbringing and saw the painful similarities with his own childhood. Lucius, on the other hand, seemed to have stopped all mental functions beyond the connection of Mylläkkä being Potter.

Voldemort hissed to get their attention, breaking the moment and commanding their attention. "Go fetch the muggles down. I've already placed silencing spells around the premises."

Harry raised an eyebrow, casually twirling his wand between his fingers while he watched them bow and go to the stairs. No one would hear the Dursley's final moments save those in the house. Harry gave a shark-like grin, anticipation thrumming through his veins. For years he had imagined what his revenge would be like, and finally it was upon him. In his younger years he had pushed away the darker ideas of revenge, but he had always thought he would do _something_ once he was of legal age. Perhaps turn them into the pig, horse, and walrus that they resembled? Or maybe a charm to make everything Dudley and Vernon ate taste, literally, like shit. That would have been entertaining.

But this… this was much better.

He heard the moment his relations awoke, Vernon's bellowing voice melding with Petunia's screeches. Dudley's whining, half-asleep complaints followed soon after. It was not long after that Lucius and Severus made their way back down the stairs, the three residents of the house bobbing along behind them like grotesque balloons.

Once Lucius and Severus had maneuvered them in, Harry signaled for them to be released from the spell in front of his old cupboard. They crumbled to the floor in a heap of moans and curses. "Hullo there."

Vernon was the fastest to recover, Petunia and Dudley shrinking back while the head of the household drew himself up in anger. "Freaks! What do you want here? We've got nothing to do with you lot while the filthy brat is away at your freak school!"

Voldemort growled under his breath and took control of the situation, striding forward with a menacing air. Voldemort was chilling in a cold temper, and Harry was temped to watch him more than the show his relatives were making. A slow cock of Voldemort's head was all it took to call attention to himself, and Petunia gurgled in fear. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

Vernon had paled significantly at the sight of the snake-like man. "A-A f-freak, that's who!"

"No, Vernon!" Petunia choked out, shaking her head in denial. "Not him, h-he's the one… the one who…"

"Who will be the cause of your death?"

Petunia shook her head rapidly.

"Sorry, flower…" Voldemort gave a leering grin. "But denial will get you nowhere."

Dudley had been whimpering since he'd been let down. At Voldemort's words the unmistakable scent of urine filled the air, and the whimpering ceased tellingly.

Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Oh _Dudders_, that's disgusting. The torture hasn't even started yet and you're already pissing yourself?"

"And who are you, freak?!" Vernon bellowed, unable to understand the situation he found himself in. "How dare you address my Dudley?"

"Oh, Uncle, don't you recognize me?"

Now all three of them had paled to an ugly bleached white, trying to melt into the wall at their backs without success. "Y-You!!"

"M-M-Me?" Harry stuttered mockingly, baring his teeth at Vernon and relishing in the loss of blood to the fat man's face. "Why yes, it is. Come now, Vernon… you had to know I'd grow up one day and be back."

"You should have died as a child!" Petunia spat, her nature overwhelming her fear. Harry almost had to give her credit for tenacity, if nothing else. "You had no right living when my sister died. She might have deserved it for the crowd she took up with, but your filthy hide deserved it more!"

Harry felt his body temperature drop, amused smirk melting from his face and leaving a mask of impassive apathy in its place. "Deserved it, did she?" he said in a low voice. "I'd say that's the wrong answer, Auntie."

Petunia's skin was mottled red and white, her face twisted into something like fear, but more like resignation. She tilted her chin at him in defiance. Eyes he'd never noticed happened to be a dark shade of green and were narrowed in spite. "She was a stupid girl. Ran around with those freaks, thinking she was Queen of the World. She was nothing, she never did a damn thing to earn the praise she got. She--"

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

The green light seemed to envelope the room, colliding with Petunia's forehead and draining the life from her. Harry watched with cold eyes as she crumpled to the ground, murky green eyes staring. Dudley was keening now in a low voice, staring at the corpse of his mother as he rocked back and forth. Harry only curled his lip.

"P-Petunia! Boy! What did you do to her? You ungrateful little wretch! Your worthless, idiot parents wouldn't have done half the things we did for you! Now, you set her right this instant!"

Rage surged through him. He had thought he had let all this go years prior, he had thought he didn't care about retribution. But the anger boiled under his skin, clawing at his veins and fighting to tear through him. These people were supposed to be his _family_. They had looked at a toddler and seen a fiend. They had turned him into a servant, the perfect scapegoat for their beck and call. They had poisoned the mind of their weak-willed child, and turned a second innocent mind into a monster of their own creation. They believed they had the right to put _him_ down? To insult his long-deceased mother?

Harry snarled as he raised his wand again toward Vernon, intent on ending this. No longer would their filthy mouths have the ability to put down their betters. Never again would he have to hear the mindless drivel pour from their mouths, infecting him with its mindless rot. He would put them down for the sake of the bloody world.

A hand on his shoulder made Harry pause, the first syllable of the Killing Curse on his lips. Voldemort pulled him away. _//You're losing control. Go into the other room for a moment and cool down before you manage to kill them. I didn't come all the way out here for you to steal all the fun.//_

Harry stared at Voldemort, eyes blazing and heart hammering in his chest. He felt the anger seep away as the moment ended. Crimson eyes stayed trained on him, head cocked to the side as he watched Harry take calming breaths. _//Fine,//_ Harry said once he felt in control. _//But I'm taking Lucius.//_

_//If it will help…//_ Voldemort smirked, and Harry was amused to feel the heart rates in the room pick up speed in terror.

Harry turned to Lucius and crooked a finger, signaling the masked blond to follow him out of the living room. When it looked as if the blond might protest, Harry merely leveled his wand on him and raised an eyebrow, challenging Lucius to defy him with his gaze. The blond obeyed after a long moment of silent glaring and trailed after him.

* * *

Severus wiped his palms on his Death Eater's robes, attempting to stave the trickle of blood he could still feel coming from self-inflicted wounds. His mind was drawn deeply into blankness, a habit borne of years of spying and deceit. It was the only way he could cope at times, and it served him well.

_"Crucio!"_

The scream that followed would have severely agitated Severus, had he not been so far within his mind. As it was, it produced a mild displeasure to break his apathy. The boy under the Dark Lord's wand writhed, pudgy fingers scrabbling at the hardwood floor in a desperate attempt to find purchase. But Severus knew he would not find it. When one was lost, they could never be found again.

The dead eyes of Petunia Evans were staring at him. He couldn't stop the occasional glance in her direction, even though every glance abraded his self control. He rubbed his hands again, his blood itching against his palms.

He remembered a gangly girl, pug-nosed with a permanent scowl. He remembered snotty remarks and knobby knees, the antithesis of appealing with her looks of disdain and screeching voice. As he looked down now at glassy eyes, he wondered as he had in the past just how this woman could possibly have been related to Lily. Beautiful Lily.

_"She was nothing, she never did a damn thing to earn the praise she got."_

Wrong. So wrong. Severus forced himself deeper into oblivion, unwilling to face such thoughts. Not here. Not with Potter nigh ten feet away with Lucius Malfoy, not with the Dark Lord practicing a Skin Peeling curse on the fat lump of a man Petunia Evans had married. Not ever, if he could help it. Seeing Lily's sister was like ripping open an old wound, even after the years that had passed. The words passing through her lips had been like poison, infecting Severus's mind.

He'd wanted to shout at her, remind her how much her sister had loved her. He'd wanted to kick her teeth in as she had spoken ill of Lily, make her choke on her own words.

But he'd done nothing. It wasn't his business, Lily wasn't his business. She hadn't been since he was fifteen years old, if she had ever been at all.

But the pain had dulled to nothing more than an ache over the years, his denial, his impotent rage smoothing out. Even with Potter's arrival as his student, it had merely kicked up old memories, soon to be settled and boxed away in the farthest reaches of his mind. He had mourned years ago, and though he would never -- _could never_ -- repair the hole left by his loss, he could function just fine.

And he would again, once this night was done. He would file these moments away in the farthest reaches of his mind, only to be thought of if he needed to summon a consuming rage. There was no need for them otherwise. They were superfluous to his existence. So by morning, they would be gone.

If they weren't, he didn't know what he would destroy to make them go.

* * *

The dining room door had hardly swung shut before Harry had Lucius against the wall, a smirk playing on his lips. "Have you missed me these last weeks, Pretty? I've hardly had time to play with you…"

Lucius bucked outward, trying to wrench himself from Harry's grip. "Potter, get your filthy half-blood hands off of me!"

Harry hummed, pulling the blond's mask off and ignoring spiteful protests. "You didn't fight nearly as much when still you only thought of me as Mylläkkä, Lucius."

"And I feel infinitely dirty for ever allowing your hands on me in light of the revelation. Now let go this instant."

Harry did, stepping away with a calculating grin. His wand pushed into the taller man's chest, the smile not leaving his face. "_Produxitur tormentus_."

Harry felt he understood Lucius rather well at this point in time, two months of chance meetings fueling him. He was always mildly impressed by the blond's endless sense of pride that caused him to attempt to hold his reaction to the Cruciatus. Then again, be was also terribly amused that Lucius would actually prolong torture sessions in order to preserve his overinflated ego. This, however, was not about breaking the blond.

A sharp hiss left Lucius's lips, his head falling back against the wall as the curse coursed through him. The steady stream of mild pain caused his fists to clench and unclench, an expected reaction to the sensations. Harry watched the expressions that crossed Lucius's face with pleasure, relishing in the knowledge of what he was doing.

The Prolonged Agony curse had been created by a reclusive witch in the late 1200s, before the Unforgivable Curses and before many of the favored torture curses of the modern day. In comparison to _Crucio_ it was seen as weak; it took many long minutes to build up to the Cruciatus's level of anguish and was discarded for this. However, when one's victim enjoyed pain… Harry licked his lips as Lucius shuddered and slid slowly down the wall. _Produxitur tormentus _was perfect for him.

Harry dropped down, his knees on either side of the glassy-eyed blond, his hands braced on the wall to either side of Lucius's head. "You don't want my hands on you, Pretty?" he cooed, lips grazing Lucius's ear. "Then whatever shall I do?"

Silvery gray eyes rolled back as the spell's staccato beat increased in tempo, back arching away from the wall. Harry backed away to avoid being pressed into with the movement.

Dipping his head, Harry let an elongated fang trace Lucius's jaw line. He moved at an excruciatingly slow pace, watching in fascination as the pale skin swelled and darkened in its wake. "There are many things that do not require hands, you know," he murmured, flicking out his tongue against the blond's earlobe. "What would you like, Lucius?"

A muffled noise between a whimper and a groan was his response, though Harry knew that Lucius would never admit that either sound could be produced by a Malfoy. He let his tongue drag teasingly down the pale throat, pausing to lave across the bobbing Adam's apple, continuing down towards a collarbone. The echoing screams of torture from the living room completed Harry's ecstasy and drove him forward.

Lucius shuddered and arched towards him, but again Harry backed away as he tried to press into him. "Tsk tsk, Pretty. None of that now. Or… have you forgotten that _I_ am the one in control?" Harry asserted this point by pushing forward roughly with his mouth, letting his fangs sink into the tender flesh partway. Lucius groaned freely this time, and Harry grinned as his tongue slowly ran over the blood that surfaced. "I am your master, Pretty. You would do well to remember that. My identity is none of your business and never will be. You will obey me nonetheless."

Harry pulled away and Lucius whimpered, a gasp escaping him as the spell again increased in intensity. Harry watched with sadistic enjoyment as Lucius writhed as he struggled to maintain his composure, seeking to acclimate to the new intensity of pain. Harry chuckled under his breath. "Do you want something, Lucius?"

He let his body tilt toward the blond, close enough for their clothing to brush. His breath fanned across Lucius's lips as glazed eyes locked on his own. Harry was pleased with his subordinates rumpled appearance, feeling inordinately content with the number of pegs he was bringing the blond down. He could feel Lucius's muscles twinging rapidly as an effect of the spell, could smell blood where the blond was biting his tongue. It was times like this that he wished he could stand the Malfoy, because he was certainly addicting to his senses. Pale lips fell apart and Lucius began panting, lips moving silently in an effort to speak.

Harry flicked out his tongue to capture a fleck of blood from Lucius's lips. "What's that?"

"T-To… " Lucius moaned again, his head snapping back into the wall and cutting off whatever he had meant to say.

Harry let out a groan of his own and leaned forward, tracing the pale lips with his tongue teasingly. "What do you want me to do, Pretty?" he breathed out, pressing slightly closer to the sitting form he still straddled.

"T-Touch me now, you infuriating fool!" Lucius gripped Harry by the hair, pressing himself upward.

Harry couldn't resist the urge to grind back, hissing as their erections pressed together. He pulled away before he could lose himself in the delicious friction, forcing on a grin and trying to calm his breathing. "You didn't say please, Lucius."

"F-Fuck you, Potter!"

Harry allowed another slow grind. _//Such a dirty mouth, Luciusss.//_ Harry drew out the last syllable of Lucius's name and watching as the lust in his eyes intensified. _//There are much better things a dirty mouth like yours could be doing.//_

Lucius moaned, eyes rolling back and the spasms of his muscles escalating. Harry knew he wasn't going to last much longer under the curse; even though the severity was dulled, Lucius had already been under it for ten minutes. Harry closed his eyes and gave up on the slow torture after a short consideration, realizing that he needed the release just as much.

"Scream for me, Pretty," Harry breathed out, rolling his hips tantalizingly again and again. He could feel climax approaching already, the drawn out torture stimulating his sadistic side and driving him nearly insane.

The increased agony coupled with the sexual stimuli broke the blond easily, and his head made a loud cracking noise against the wall and he threw it back, screaming out in mingled pain and pleasure. Harry pressed down frenziedly, quickly following as he watched the perfectly delectable sight of Lucius coming. Panting, Harry somehow managed to grab up his wand again, swishing it in a jerky motion and muttering the incantation to end the curse.

Harry stayed straddling the blond's hips, on his knees on the floor of 4 Privet Drive, a bit shocked at himself for having taken it that far. While he was far from innocent, he had only had three partners in his decade's tenure in Sceaduwe. One had been a breathtaking Nymph who had thoroughly ruined him for any woman ever again - she had been far too perfect and beautiful for another female to ever compare. She had also been the most vain and vapid bitch Harry had ever met, and that included both Cho Chang and Fleur Delacour. Then he and Valerian had taken up together, beginning a several year long off and on affair. The only other had been a one night stand with a Veela man after consuming too much Firewhiskey, and Harry couldn't honestly remember the man's name if his life was in danger.

But here he was, satiated and collapsed in the lap of Lucius Malfoy of all people. It had been meant only as a way to enjoy the blond's torment; it had been far too entertaining to work the blond into angry, pained, or pleasured fits. But Harry had not been able to stop when it had come down to it. He was glad of their current surroundings, for Harry was rather sure it would have degenerated even farther had there been any privacy. Though a bit shocked, Harry really couldn't say that he cared much. It would make for even more entertainment to see the blond be uncomfortable around him.

Harry leaned away from the still-dazed blond, smirking to himself at the effect he had on him. A whispered _Tergeo_ and Harry was no longer so uncomfortable in his clothing, standing and chuckling down at the blond. "You'd better come back to yourself soon, Pretty, or we might leave you here in muggle suburbia."

This seemed to rouse Lucius somewhat, as his eyes met with Harry's and a scowl began overtaking his features. Harry laughed again and winked. "Well, I'm going to go have some fun with Tom and Severus, join us when you're presentable."

Leaving a slowly more aware and fuming Lucius, Harry strolled back into the living room, grinning as he looked at the broken, bloody forms of his cousin and uncle. They were alive, shown by the ragged rise and fall of their chests and the pained groans, but they were very much out of it.

Voldemort smirked at him. "Did you have fun, Potter?"

Harry grinned, "Why yes, Tom. Thank you ever-so for the suggestion."

"Lucius drowned out the screams of the muggles. What _did_ you do to him? I'd rather you not do too much damage to my Death Eaters."

Harry chuckled. "Nothing he didn't enjoy, I assure you," he winked at Voldemort and laughed at the disgust Severus was radiating. "But enough about that. I don't even feel the need to play with these two now. What's done is done. There are better ways of gaining relief."

Voldemort snorted, and eyed Harry with a hungry look. "One of these days, Potter… "

"Get a nose, Riddle."

"You're such a _vain_ little child."

"And you weren't at my age? Sorry if I'm picky… "

Voldemort chuckled, ignoring the way Severus was slowly backing away. "Of course. I was Tom bloody Riddle, for Merlin's sake. Vanity was my modus vivendi."

Harry grinned, feeling and odd warmth seeping into him. He was at Privet Drive, the source of near torturous years of slavery, childish nightmares and murdered dreams… but he wasn't bound to the Durselys' neglect anymore. He would never have to come back to this hellhole again. His grin faded to a genuine smile at the Dark Lord. "I didn't even realize that I needed it."

Voldemort didn't reply but for a nod, turning and firing off two Killing Curses at the unconscious Dursleys. Harry breathed in deeply and closed his eyes as he relished his first moments of true freedom from his childhood, and only hoped that Voldemort understood the 'thank you' that Harry couldn't bring himself to give.

* * *

Special thanks to **Ammene **for the Latin help, as I am a dunce and she is everything good in the world. Give her love.

_Produxitur tormentus _is made up, meaning 'prolong torment'. Nice, ne? Haha. Again, thanks to Ammene for this.

_Tergeo_ is the spell Hermione uses in HBP to siphon the blood from Harry's face. I don't think a simple cleaning charm would really do the trick as it does in so many fanfictions… or else, why wouldn't they do it more often, ne?

Revised: 3/18/09


	11. Interlude: Ruminations

Disclaimer: I do not own.

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

Interlude -_ Ruminations // to think carefully and at length about something_

* * *

Hermione sighed from behind her Arithmancy text, brown eyes flicking over Harry as he ate. He had been acting strangely since summer had ended -- introverted and quiet, polite and calm almost beyond normalcy. She was confused in the changes to the boy she considered to be her best friend, closer to her than Ron, a brother in all but blood. The year before they had been concerned that he would lose his sanity with all the stress that the war was putting on him coupled with Sirius's death, but he had come back from his relative's house with soft smiles and bored expressions. It was like he was suddenly an adult in a way the rest of them could only dream of being.

She loved Harry as she loved her family, she always had. It wasn't his fame or his money that kept her by his side, it was simply that he was her first real friend. In primary school, she had been shunned for loving her books more than playing tag, for holding knowledge above the playground. No one wanted to be friends with the bushy-haired bookworm -- it would have ruined their chances of making other friends. Not that she had minded, really.

When her Hogwarts letter had come, both she and her parents had thought it to be a hoax. After all, magic? Really, now. There was no basis in science for the ability to pull rabbits out of hats without slight of hand, no proof of any real miracles. Her family was pragmatic if nothing else, and magic just didn't fit in with logic.

But then Professor McGonagall had shown up on her doorstep, a properly intelligent woman who could prove the existence of magic. Hermione had been in awe of the sheer brilliance and poise the woman possessed, totally enamored with the explanations of magical theory she presented. So then, magic did exist… and Hermione would be able to perform it. Her mind had spun at the possibilities.

The beginning of her first year had dampened her fervor. Though she had been thrilled beyond expression at the quantity of new things to learn, books to read, and spells to memorize, she had noticed that Hogwarts was almost just like the other schools she had attended. Children laughed and pointed at her, mocking her enthusiasm for learning, poking fun at her pronounced teeth and frizzy hair. She had hoped that magical children might be more intelligent or at least aloof enough not to stoop down to a bully's level, and the realization that they were just like all the other children had saddened her terribly.

But then Harry had stormed into her life. He had never actively teased her like the others, no matter that he just sat back and let Ron say horrible things to her. And then he had run to her rescue that Halloween night, his small stature overshadowed but the sheer size of his courage and heart. Hermione had developed quite the crush on Harry that day. Ron had 'put up with her' because Harry had seemed to like her, and she couldn't have honestly called him her friend until the end of the year at the soonest.

Her little crush had quickly warmed into a secure friendship, and Hermione couldn't help but be devoted to Harry. He had given her the acceptance she had hardly even realized she had craved, shown her what it was like for someone to care for her for who she was. He had accepted her bossiness with bare complaints and never looked down on her for her devotion to learning and knowledge.

Now, as she snuck looks at her best friend over her textbook, her heart clenched to see the once vibrant boy half asleep over his breakfast with a brooding look on his face. He had exceptionally quiet all week, though Hermione had originally put it down to the approach of Halloween, she wasn't so sure now.

Harry was darker than before. She could see past the polite and smiling façade he put up for the rest of them, she could see behind the seemingly attentive gazes and reassuring smiles. She played along with his little act, letting him continue to hide… but she saw the looks that passed over his eyes at times, the way he tensed up involuntarily when people got too close to him. He had always been a bit touch-shy and skittish, and his maturity had always been higher than that of the others in their class… but it was different now. It was not a shy air he held, it was a cautious and violent one. And it scared her.

So she watched him, filing away all she learned in hopes of understanding this man who seemed to have taken her Harry's place, treading guardedly as she tried to put together the puzzle he had become. For while he was still obviously Harry and she still considered him to be her best friend, Hermione Jean Granger never let a puzzle go unsolved.

She watched as Harry clapped a hand over his mouth to cover a yawn, green eyes watering. She was worried at how exhausted he seemed lately. It reminded her too vividly of the year before when he was plagued by visions on a nightly basis, forced to watch the torture and death of countless people. She sometimes nearly hoped this was why he acted so strangely this year, though, because it would relieve many of her worries. She knew it was wrong to _hope_ for something like that, but in comparison to some of the other things her overactive mind had worked up, it was preferable.

"Harry?" she ventured quietly, finally letting her book lower and meeting bespectacled eyes. "Are you alright? You look exhausted. Have… have you been getting visions again?" she asked in a whisper, gaze darting around to make sure they didn't have eavesdroppers. She needn't have worried, breakfast in the Great Hall was always a loud event, despite the lack of 'morning people'.

Harry smiled softly to her, a genuine smile that took a weight from her shoulders; smiles like that had become more and more rare. "No, I just haven't been sleeping well, is all. I've… been thinking of a lot of things."

"Sirius?"

She saw the way his smile suddenly became strained and her heart broke just a bit. "Among other things," he answered slowly, eyes shifting away from hers.

"Are you sure you're okay, Harry? I mean… you've been so distant this term. I worry… "

Harry waved a hand, cutting her off. "I'm fine, Hermione, honestly. I'll get through this just like everything else. Besides, we have to be on guard, Halloween is this coming Tuesday."

The witch stiffened and began poking her breakfast a bit harder, her eyes turned away from Harry's. "So something will happen this year?" She hated thinking about it. She hated knowing that again something terrible would happen on that accursed day. Despite the fact that the first Halloween in Hogwarts had brought her acceptance, she didn't relish in a repeat… and every year just seemed to get worse.

"Something _always_ happens on Halloween, Hermione," Ron cut in, rubbing his newly filled stomach with a content expression.

Hermione watched as Harry's eyes glazed over and sighed. Ron was right, of course, but he didn't have to be so callous about it.

She frowned at the redhead. "Ronald, that was uncalled for."

"Huh?" he asked with several rapid blinks. "It's true, innit?"

"Well… yes, but that was an awfully rude way of putting it," she glanced over at Harry's far-off eyes; he seemed to be entranced with his hands and didn't appear to hear a word they were saying. "Anyway, we'll deal with it when it comes."

Ron set his jaw, and narrowed his dark blue eyes. Hermione couldn't help the slight speeding of her pulse at the uncommonly serious look. "We should be planning for it instead of just waiting for whatever happens. What if it's worse this year?"

Hermione blinked rapidly. "You're proposing we work?"

The redhead scoffed. "This is strategy, not work."

"How can we plan a strategy when we have no idea what form the attack will take?"

"Uhh… well… we'll figure out something? Yeah! We can think up things tonight… " he said, fidgeting and glancing away.

It was Hermione's turn to narrow her eyes. "Are you trying to get out of homework using Halloween as an excuse, Ronald?!"

"Don't worry about it, we'll get through this like we have every year, guys. We have DADA first, we should get to class," Harry said suddenly, getting to his feet and looking at them as he finally came back to reality.

"Oi, seriously, that Peirce is a real arse."

"Ronald! Don't disrespect your teachers! I swear, you get ruder and ruder every year… what has Professor Peirce ever done to you? He's an entirely fair teacher and is terribly intelligent… " Hermione jumped in immediately.

"I dunno, but he reminds me of a Malfoy. He's always all dreary and snooty, I hate bastards like that. And there's something off about him… "

Hermione sighed and glared at the boy as they exited the Great Hall. "You're being silly, Ron. Professor Peirce is a wonderful instructor, we should feel lucky to have such a competent teacher after last year's debacle… "

"Don't tell me you've got a crush on _this_ Defense teacher too!" Ron stuttered out loudly causing blood to rush to Hermione's face.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!"

Harry laughed sincerely from where he walked in front of them, and Hermione tried to fight the smile that threatened to break her intimidating countenance. Perhaps this 'new' Harry wasn't so different after all.

* * *

Severus Snape watched as the Golden Trio exited the hall, black eyes narrowing at the casual gait of one Harry Potter, the bane of his existence. Severus was thankful that he was required to treat the Potter brat no differently while in school than he had before the shocking revelations. He could hardly hold his tongue at the occasional times when he was alone with Potter or at a meeting with the Dark Lord.

He hated knowing that the boy he had spent the better part of a decade loathing was now his superior. He hated seeing this _child_ command such power and rank. And most of all, Severus Snape hated the minuscule amount of respect that was forming for this troublesome boy.

The night before had been enlightening if nothing else. Watching the people he had assumed to lavish the boy in attention spew out insults toward Wizarding kind had been shocking. The boy had left minutes after their deaths with a mandate to Lucius and himself that if a single soul got word of his identity that he would kill them both indiscriminately, seeming unharmed by the words his so-called relatives had spoken. The word 'freak' brought back memories of Severus's own magic-hating father doling out punishment on his mother simply for existing.

However, the boy was still Potter. Severus was not suddenly going to realize he had been wrong all these years and become the boy's friend. Severus scoffed at himself for the thought, nearly snickering aloud. Regardless of his home life, the boy still strolled around the castle like he owned it, ignoring all the rules and getting preferential treatment because of a task he had done at a year old without effort. It sickened Severus to see previously dignified wizards and witches tripping over themselves to answer his beck and call.

And yet, he did have a grudging respect for how Potter had turned out despite his upbringing. He looked at himself for an example and was amazed that the boy could still act so… normal after being raised that way. Severus himself had only become more and more withdrawn as the years went by, even after his own father was killed he had continued on the decline. He had refused to trust anyone, secluding himself away from people his own age and looking only to gain more power and prestige. Nothing else had mattered.

He remembered the bloody 'Marauders'. Black and Potter especially with their stupid pranks and low intelligence quotients. They hadn't cared about the world outside, never managed to let the fact that a war was beginning outside dampen their immature antics. Severus had always been their favorite victim simply because he was a Slytherin and withdrawn, not surrounded by others like most of the elitist purebloods. To this day Severus was sure Black had been the one to chose him out, seeing him as a perfect person to take out his rage against his own Dark family on.

The Dark Sect had been a release for Severus. He had joined simply for power, wanting more than a desk job in the Ministry could ever give. He was the youngest Potions Master since Salazar Slytherin himself -- he wanted to do something that showed the world how great he was. Perhaps it would have been different had the Dark Lord's priorities not become obscured. Perhaps had he remained on his journey to change the Wizarding world Severus would have the esteem he craved.

However, somewhere in the late seventies the Dark Lord had become more interested in violently eradicating muggles than changing the Wizarding world. The Dark Sect as a whole began making this their priority, as if a handful of magic-users could really wipe out several _billion_ non-magical humans around the world. It was an impossibility, especially with the way the muggles were advancing in technology. They would have been wiped out themselves.

But here he was once again becoming embroiled in the Dark Sect, all due to the influence of one horrid boy. Harry Potter commanded more power than even the Dark Lord or Dumbledore did, though he lacked greatly in the experience the two elder wizards had. But Severus shivered as he imagined what the boy would be able to do with time and training, and seriously wondered where Potter planned on taking them. Was his upbringing enough to send him crashing after the Dark Lord on his plan for world domination, or was Potter going to be the one to bring them back on track?

Severus didn't know, but he was sure of one thing.

The Light didn't have a chance.

* * *

Ron wasn't an idiot. Now, many would disagree with this, and perhaps he wasn't the most intelligent of people -- his grades could attest to that. He was brash and headstrong, stubborn as a Hippogriff with a temper to rival one: a Gryffindor through and through. He was impatient and often surly, hated spending time outside of the classroom on work, and was much better suited to a professional career in Quidditch than in the Ministry like his father. However, no matter what anyone else might think, Ronald Weasley knew he was not an idiot.

Despite his hasty decisions and foolhardy personality, stratagem had always been a strong point for him. It had started with an affinity for chess in his younger years and quickly grown to everyday life. He could imagine every move on a battlefield as pieces to play, see the best steps to take to ensure victory. However, his own personality was often his worst enemy in these situations, as he tended to act before even allowing the possibilities to sink in.

The older he got, though, the more quickly the paths he could take opened to him. Nearly every situation now -- from a conversation with Harry and Hermione, to a game of Quidditch, to the battle at the Department of Mysteries -- showed him infinite steps he _could_ take and where they would lead him. He still, of course, made wrong moves. Life was _not_ chess and the possible moves were unlimited, therefore he was prone to missteps. However, he was quickly learning how to apply his uncanny abilities into life.

Feelings and emotions confused him, as they did most regular teenage males. He didn't understand why girls seemed to cry for no reason or what the expressions that flashed through people's eyes meant. He understood liking people well enough, whether it was platonic or more friendly than that, as he had many friends and there were several girls that he had trouble keeping his mind off of, his close friend Hermione being the foremost on that list. But he didn't have a clue _why_ he felt things or why others did… and he really wasn't all that interested in finding out.

He understood the more base emotions well, though. He understood anger; after all, the bloody prat Malfoy pissed him off simply by existing on a daily basis. He understood fear; no he wasn't just referring to spiders, though who could honestly like the creepy little things? They were disgusting and hairy with their beady little eyes and gave him the chills just thinking of them… but he was getting off topic. He understood fear because he had been raised on fear. Fear of the different, fear of Voldemort, fear of the Dark side, fear of failure. Fear had been a fundamental part of him for years.

And he understood jealousy. Oh, how he understood jealousy. He had befriended Harry Potter on the train at Hogwarts because he was _Harry bloody Potter,_ for Merlin's sake. Who wouldn't want to befriend him? To know your best friend was one of the most known figures in the Wizarding world? Ron had been in near ecstasy just by the thought of it. In the months and years to follow, though, he had second guessed his decision. It was hard living in Harry's shadow. Many times he had nearly wished that he had never even met the boy, that he could have had a chance to be great and not just known as 'Harry's friend'.

His feelings had culminated in the Triwizard tournament his fourth year. Again Harry Potter had gotten away with something no one else could, and again Ron had gotten left behind. It had infuriated him so much. It had been this that had led him to shun his friend and be an overall prat.

But then reality had washed over him.

Being Harry Potter was not as easy as it looked.

He had never thought that maybe fame wouldn't be fun. He had never even imagined that Harry wouldn't like the attention that he received, or that being the catalyst for everything would put a person into situations which could risk their lives. He had never even considered it to be a possibility.

But he knew now. If the Triwizard Tournament hadn't taught him that, the Department of Mysteries certainly had. Being a hero meant the expectations of the world on your shoulders, it meant risking your life in the name of people who would one minute laud your name and the next persecute you for doing exactly what they wished of you. Sufficient to say that Ron no longer wished he was Harry Potter.

But while Ron was not the most intelligent of people, nor the most observant… he did notice things others might miss because of his unique perspective. And it was because of this that he knew something big was coming. He didn't know what, but he could _feel _the shift in the atmosphere, the innate knowledge that something life changing was approaching. And Ron would be prepared. He would not allow others to have all the prestige this time, and he would not allow Harry to fight what was coming alone. Because Harry was his best friend, honestly, beyond the petty emotions of his younger years. Harry was his best friend and that was what mattered.

As they entered the Defense classroom, Ron was surprised to see Dumbledore at the head of the class beside their Professor. Harry halted in front of him and Hermione as shockingly untwinkling eyes met with them and Dumbledore nodded. "Harry my boy, I need you to come with me."

Somehow, Ron thought things were about to take a bad turn. But that didn't matter.

He would stay with Harry through thick or thin.

Well… he thought so, anyway.

* * *

Revised: 3/18/09

* * *


	12. Abiku

Disclaimer: I do not own.

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Abiku // Africa: a malicious spirit that steals the life of children by possession and destruction_

* * *

Harry followed Dumbledore through the halls with a blank expression, internally grumbling over his luck. He had hoped to get a chance for a nap before this conversation; he had hardly slept at all that week. Though with his vampiric attributes he needed less sleep, all living beings required _some._ His adrenaline had been pushed too high for him to find any rest the night before, and now he was paying for it. By the time he had felt like sleeping it had already been time to wake up and get ready for classes, but Harry had been hoping to use lunch and his free block for a nap. He would still probably be able to do so, but he wasn't looking forward to dealing with Dumbledore in this mood.

Dumbledore called out the name of some candy or another as they reached the gargoyle, and it moved aside for them to enter the spiral staircase. Dumbledore was oddly silent during this time, the ever-present twinkle in his eye suspiciously absent. Had Harry not been aware of the Dursleys' deaths, he might have been worried.

"Sit, Harry." Dumbledore sighed as he walked around his desk, sitting and propping his chin on age-marked hands. "I'm afraid I have some bad news."

Harry tensed himself. "What's happened? Did Voldemort do something? Is everyone alright? Halloween isn't for four more days, surely he hasn't made his move yet…" he asked quickly, pleased with how natural it sounded.

"There was a raid last night, and I'm afraid… "

"Was someone killed?! Tell me it wasn't Remus, sir, or one of the Weasleys! It wasn't an Order member, was it?"

Dumbledore sighed and steepled his fingers. "It was your family, my boy."

Harry's eyes widened, careful pushing down the indignant irritation that flashed through him. The old bastard dared to call them his _family_ after all the things they'd put him through? Perhaps they were his relatives, as blood relation couldn't be negated, but they were not and had never been _family_. He hung his head to hide any sign of the flare of temper in his eyes, breathing deeply to calm himself as he responded. "Ah. So the Dursleys are dead, then?"

Dumbledore's voice was a bit troubled. "Yes, I'm afraid so, Harry."

"Alright then." Harry nodded and tilted his head back to observe the ceiling.

"You do not seem very upset… "

Harry glanced at the old wizard, an eyebrow raised. "I'm sorry that I cannot find it in me to be upset that they're dead, sir. I will mourn the last of my blood, but I will not mourn the people they were. You know very well how they treated me, don't you, sir?"

The Headmaster's eyebrow twitched slightly, giving away his irritation. "I admit they might not have been the kindest, but surely it was nothing so bad? It turned out for best, after all. Just look how wonderfully you turned out, my boy. Had you been raised in the Wizarding world, you would have become spoilt and needy. You're a good, strong boy from your experiences."

Harry couldn't help a snort in response.

When Harry didn't bother responding in words, his eyes once again trained down, Dumbledore continued. "This poses several problems in regards to Voldemort."

Harry was glad his shaggy hair hid his expressions from the old wizard, because he couldn't fight off the incredulous look that was taking over his face. First Dumbledore calls them his family, then immediately jumps into how their deaths will effect the war? If he _had_ given a damn about their deaths, he would have blown his lid!

"What would that be, Professor?" he asked in a tight voice.

"With your Aunt Petunia's death, the Blood Wards have been destroyed, and you will not be able to renew them for your last year. This creates a problem with where you will be staying this summer. I've been speaking to the other Professors about which you could stay with for the summer and be safe… "

"Excuse me _sir_, but why not Grimmauld Place? The Fidelius would be more than enough to keep me safe."

"No no, you don't need to be stuck with all the Order members running in and out. Terribly boring for a young man your age. I was thinking that perhaps going to Italy with Professor Sinistra would be nice for you, or with Professor Sprout to visit her family in Amsterdam. Lovely community, that."

Harry seethed despite the fact that his allegiances would be out by summer. "Wouldn't the summer months be better spent training, sir? There is a war going on… "

"Oh, don't you worry yourself about that, Harry. After all, you have the strongest weapon of all inside you already!"

Harry held back the barking laugh that wanted to escape, sliding a strained too-wide smile onto his face. "Well, of course, Professor. However, that 'power' is only likely to work against Voldemort himself, what about if I get into a situation against Death Eaters?"

"Oh, I have confidence in you, Harry my boy."

Harry was nearly shaking with tension, eyes firmly on his clenched fists. "May I go now, sir? This is a lot to take in."

"Oh yes. Before you go," the Headmaster paused to pull a letter from the top of a pile on his desk, leaning over to hand it to Harry. "Remus sent this along to you."

Harry's eyes widened and a ghost of a real smile crept over his lips. He took the letter and nodded jerkily. "Goodbye, Professor."

"I am sorry for your loss, my boy."

Harry made sure he was out of the office before the loud snort escaped.

* * *

Narrowed hazel eyes watched as Harry Potter left the Headmaster's, a derisive sneer overtaking his face as he jogged down the deserted hall. They had been watching carefully, and knew the young man was now deeply involved in Dark affairs, even if they had not been able to confirm it. After all, they were the Dark Lord's most precious spy, an asset to his cause. They had been placed within the maelstrom itself; Hogwarts far outranked the Ministry on the rank of where everything happened.

Unfortunately, this meant very limited communication with their Lord. Their job was to watch for anything dire and try to pull the legs out from under it, but keep hidden at all costs. Snape's purpose was information gathering and relay. This person's job was the subtle dismantling of the Light's goals and plans, the surreptitious seeds of doubt planted in even the most loyal of its followers.

But the boy was obviously just as involved in the Dark as they were. They could feel it in his aura, in the expressions Potter made. He reeked of tainted power, so strong that it was a wonder Dumbledore hadn't caught on. Then again, the old man tended to see what he wanted to see. He would never look to his perfect weapon and think it was getting away from him. Dumbledore believed he had an unflinching hold on the boy.

He was obviously wrong. One only had to look to see the truth.

The person watching over Potter smirked, adjusting their robes as they made to leave their hiding place. Soon the act could drop. A new day was dawning… they could _taste_ it.

* * *

Harry was annoyed.

Scratch that, Harry was _more_ than annoyed. Harry was downright incensed.

After his meeting with Dumbledore, a well-meaning but utterly aggravating Hermione had latched onto him, mothering him so badly with the news of his relatives' deaths that he had been unable to take a nap. Sure, he knew she was merely concerned in her own loving, overbearing fashion, but his temper was short enough.

Once he had finally managed to escape her stranglehold, he had been cornered by a blushing and stuttering Ginny Weasley, fresh off another breakup. He had honestly thought her over her little crush, and had thought her far past acting awkward in his presence, but apparently he had been wrong. She had tried to ask him to Hogsmeade, which he had declined… as gently as possible, of course. She had grown into a beautiful girl, but she was very young still and her immaturity alone would take her off his list of possibilities even if there were any reasons to consider her. However, there were none at all for him beyond that she was mildly attractive, and he honestly didn't know if he could date another woman ever again.

Then, to put the icing on the cake, he had had to deal with Ron's ranting about his sister fancying his best mate and how awkward it was, but how he wasn't sure if he should be angry or not that Harry rejected her. He had switched back and forth between sympathizing with Harry and outright cursing at him for making his little sister cry then back to rubbing his neck uncomfortably. Harry had gotten fed up with this quickly.

He could feel that he was at the end of his rope. His patience was sorely taxed by weeks of nothing but Blood Substitution potions and animal blood, too wary of wizards realizing there was a feeding vampire nearby. He didn't want any suspicion to fall on Dante, after all, but the lack of fresh human blood was tearing at the barriers that kept him sane. He would not be able to deal with this much longer.

He flew low to the ground, his Invisibility cloak snapping around his ankles painfully. However, the stinging kept him grounded in reality, holding on to the thin strip of sanity that he retained. If he was not careful, the bloodlust would take over. As it was, he knew that for the first time in months, he was not going to be able to stop as the heart rate slowed.

Harry didn't bother with the Reversion potion. The pain was likely to send him over the edge, and he couldn't afford a rampage through Hogsmeade. Perhaps some day, but not while he was still undercover. He hated feeding in his teenage form, his stunted height and unfit body giving him a disadvantage, and that was not even counting that he may be recognized.

Tonight didn't matter, though. Tonight his meal would not live to recount the attack.

He could hear hundreds of heartbeats, all the inhabitants of Hogsmeade unknowingly calling out to him. The rhythmic drumming surrounded his senses, calling him in every direction at once. There were those lost in sleep, the beats of their heart slow and steady. There were those running through the streets, blood flowing through their veins rapidly, their pulse fluttering alluringly. Men and women, the elderly and children, Harry closed his eyes and immersed himself in the simple pleasure of having his pick of the populace. No other vampire would dare feed from a place such as this, and most would not dare to go after a wizard. While magical blood fulfilled deeper, the risk of exposure was too great in a bigoted society. Muggles had to do.

Harry slunk through the shadows, staying hidden but uncaring if he was found out. He wanted power tonight, so the first to sense his presence would be given the privilege of dying by his hand. It was a very few who were so lucky, after all.

He was surprised when it was a child.

The young boy couldn't have been more than seven or eight, matted wiry hair hanging limply over his eyes. He sat huddled in the darkness against the back of a building, knees drawn up and face hidden in his arms. Harry's heart clenched as the child looked up foggily, a wan smile tilting his mouth. The look was tired and aggrieved and far _far_ too old for a child so young.

The moon shone at Harry's back as the dark-skinned boy tilted his face, captured in Harry's shadow. "Ah. Are you my angel, then? Finally come to take me away?"

The boy was thinner than Harry could remember himself ever being, even, with wrists that looked brittle as glass in the silver sheen of moonlight. "Surely you do not wish to die."

A rasping laugh. "But I do, Angel. I've been punished with life enough."

Harry pursed his lips and tilted his head up. "I am no angel."

Dark eyes scanned over him slowly, and Harry felt vaguely unnerved. Harry tried to ignore the way the boy's voice seemed heavy in the air. "You glow under the moon, Angel; did you know? But then… you blend into it as well. Are you a spirit sent from the moon, then? A child of Mawu? You'll take me there, then, won't you?" (1)

Harry shivered. "Sorry, young one. I'm nothing so grand as that."

"I think you're lying," the eerie child said, his smile fading. "Release me, Angel. I want to be with Mother," he nodded his head.

Harry's body contracted at the sight he was met with, eyes slowly raking over the mangled flesh of… something. His sense of smell was no greater than a humans, and having smelt nothing he assumed the kill to be fresh.

He let his eyes shift back to the small figure against the wall, a golden sheen to his eyes apparent now that Harry was looking. In his haze of near-bloodlust, he had not deemed it necessary to read the auras around him. But now he did. The boy held no magic, a squib he supposed as he was in Hogsmeade. A werewolf then, likely off his first transformation, as the full moon was the night before. A child so young, already with a death under his belt. And of a loved one no less.

"Please Angel. I wish to go to the moon. Mother loved the moon."

Harry turned glowing verdant eyes on the pitiful young boy whose breathing was controlled and calm despite asking for death. Harry's expression never twitched. "Ah. Alright. Let's send you then."

* * *

Harry was nearly disgusted with himself at how easily he was able to kill now.

Two more deaths added to his ever-growing list in one night, one a not-so-innocent child. It would have made him ill to drink the blood of a werewolf, but he had sent the child off painlessly, lying him beside the corpse of his mother with a cleanly broken neck. Even if the child was young, it would have done no good to allow someone already given up to live on. The child wished for death, a child far too wise for his years, and Harry could have done nothing but grant it. He knew those eyes, the lost but determined air they held. So he had granted peace, peace he had wished for so many times in his own childhood. Peace he was never granted because of a prophecy that laid over his head.

He had drained the first person he'd seen after that, a nondescript witch who was wandering through the streets. He hadn't put a second thought to her death, pushing her into a wall with a hand over her mouth as his fangs sunk into her neck. It was not murder in the strictest sense, though a human would see it that way. Humans killed living beings for food every day, but they considered themselves the top of the food chain. It was for this reason that vampires were feared; they showed humans that they could be the prey just as easily as the cows or chickens they led to slaughter.

Harry pushed a hand through his hair as he walked slowly back up to the castle, calm enough now to walk rather than take his broom. The moonlight shone down on him, comforting as it always was. '_Mother loved the moon,_' the child had said. Harry understood this. He loved it as well. No matter the stage in his life, he had always found an odd solace in the cold light, detached and distant. As a child he had wished to visit the moon, it had become his dream for escape. He had imagined a society there where he would be treated as any other, ignored but not neglected. He imagined his parents waiting for him there on the moon, just waiting for him to come to them.

Now in the moonlight he walked lazily, letting his other senses guide him as he closed his eyes. He basked in the pale light, letting it illuminate him, uncaring at the moment if he was seen on grounds long after curfew. He was still half a mile from the castle proper, he doubted he would be seen, and surely he would be recognized even if he was.

He skirted the western shore of the lake, regarding the glassy surface with his eyes. It looked solid with no discernible breeze to move its waters, and with the squid asleep there wasn't even a ripple. Like a solid plate of black glass stretching on to the cliffs in the distance, the faint lights of Hogwarts unable to reach its surface to reflect upon it. Even the moonlight seemed absorbed.

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets to ward off the autumn chill, his breaths puffing out in faint clouds from his lips. His right fist encountered a paper, and green eyes widened behind false glasses. The letter from Remus.

The moonlight was enough for his sharp eyes to read the scrawled script, eyes darting across it and fists clenching tighter with every line. His heart hurt more with every sentence, but he could feel the truth in the werewolf's words.

_Dear Harry,_

_Hello there, pup. I was glad to get your letter; I had thought that after June you would no longer want to talk to me. I appreciate the smile you were able to give me, fleeting though it was._

_I'm not sure about much of your letter. You left many hints and ambiguous messages, and I fear that I am chary to attempt to decipher many them. The less I know, the less I will have to pass on._

_I am sorry if this is not what you wished to hear, Harry, but there is little I can do. I know we hardly knew one another, but you brought a light into my life that I hadn't had for over a decade, and for that I thank you. Though it is selfish of me, I will always love to think of you and remember your father, and how proud he would have been to see what a man you are becoming. This, however, cannot change many things._

_I cannot tell you where I am for safety, but I am doing work for the Old Crowd in a werewolf pack. They are kind here, I am amazed constantly by how misinterpreted being a werewolf is in society. I fell into the beliefs just as anyone else, but being here is opening my eyes. Not all werewolves need be bloodthirsty monsters like Greyback. I think I may learn more about myself on this assignment than I will learn for the Old Crowd, but I suppose that I am due for something for myself._

_I do not blame you for Sirius, pup, just so you know. He wouldn't have wanted me nor you to mourn him, you know, and I refuse to let life end because he has gone. He is with James and Lily now, after all. I will be back with him someday, and your parents as well. But if I still have time here, I am in no rush._

_Whatever you choose to do, Harry, they will not be disappointed in you, that I can promise. While they may not understand your choices, they would know that they were your own. Just as I must make my own. I will not pass on anything in the letter you sent, but please do not send another like it. Next time I will have no choice. Despite everything, all the changes I wish to make in my life, and that you are the only thing close to family that remains for this old wolf, I cannot change so much, Harry. I am old and nearing the end already._

_Take care. Please. I beg this of you. No matter the outcome of your choices, I wish your safety._

_With Love Always,_

_Moony_

Harry closed his eyes and let the now crushed paper be caught in the wind, carrying it away from him. It hurt more than he had expected it to, and for the first time Harry considered what was to come for him. If he was so affected by the refusal of someone who he valued but hardly knew, how would it feel when Ron and Hermione looked to him with betrayal in their eyes? How much harder would it be to stand on opposite sides of the battlefield from all the people who had made his teenage years tolerable?

It wasn't that Remus had turned away. Remus was, at the core of it, nothing but a friend of Sirius whom he had looked up to. He had hardly ever spoken to him, and never had the chance to become attached. But he was an indicator of just how much the coming months would hurt him.

Harry looked up at the silent moon for long minutes, as if the answers he sought laid there.

They did not.

* * *

I did a report on different cultures' superstitions of the moon years ago in high school and this one always stuck out to me, for some reason. It was the first one I thought of in this case.

(1) **Mawu represented the Moon that brings the night and cooler temperature in the African world. Mawu is depicted as an old mother who dwells in the West. Coolness is an expression of wisdom and age for the Fon people.****Mawu has a partner called Liza that is associated with the Sun. Mawu and Liza are regarded as an unseparable unity at the basis of the universal order. Together they created the universe. They used their son Gu, the divine tool, to shape the world. They were also aided by the cosmic serpent, Da. Mawu and Liza were twins.**

Revised: 3/18/09


	13. Aberration

Disclaimer: I do not own.

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Aberration // a temporary departure from a person's normal mental state_

* * *

"Harry… are you okay? You aren't eating so much as you're pushing your food around and around."

Harry looked up from the race he was currently conducting between his peas and a piece of meat from his pie, eyes meeting with Ginny Weasley's. Her comment called Ron and Hermione's attention as well, and Harry gave a silent sigh. "I'm fine, guys. Just a bit out of it today."

"You are looking a bit peaky, Harry." Hermione moved forward over the table, laying the back of his hand to Harry's forehead.

Harry shook his head and pushed her hand away, smiling slightly. "I'm fine! You all worry too much."

"We're your friends, Harry. It's our job." Ginny looked away with a blush, her teeth sunk into her lip. Harry had nearly forgotten her attempt of the night before, but now he grimaced internally as she peeked at him through her lashes.

"Yeah mate," Ron said through a mouthful of food. "S'not like we can help it. You haven't got the best record for telling us what's wrong."

Harry speared a bit of meat and ate it to stave off his response.

"Honestly, Harry. We worry about you…"

Harry was saved from responding when Ron waved his fork in Hermione's direction. "Don't nag him, it won't help. Mate, we need to do something about Quidditch. We had to let Kirke back on and put him as Chaser. He's terrible, and I think we should move Ginny over with Demzela and have you back as Seeker. I'm sure Katie won't fuss about it, she thinks we need you back too."

"Ronald! This is not the time for worrying about Quidditch! Can you not be serious just this once?"

"Quidditch is just as important as anything you can come up with, Hermione."

Harry pushed his plate away and stood with a rueful grin. "Guys, we've got to get to Charms. Are you with me?"

* * *

Harry tugged his hood further over his face, keeping it in shadow as he skirted a group of Death Eaters in the halls of Riddle Manor. After Harry's last class on the day before Halloween , he had immediately begged off from Ron and Hermione with a muttered excuse about seeing Madame Pomfrey for a headache potion. Instead, he had put on his cloak, unshrunk his broom, and once again made his way out of the Anti-Apparition wards. Not only did he wish to finalize the Halloween plans with Voldemort, but he also needed someone to talk to without reserve; he could think of no one else he could speak to as freely as he could with Voldemort. Valerian perhaps, but that was out for obvious reasons.

Unfortunately, leaving in the middle of the day meant that he had been unwilling to risk using the Reversion potion in the open. He would wait until he had gotten into Voldemort's office. He cringed internally as he imagined the repercussions of a Death Eater glimpsing the face under his hood. It would be _chaos_.

He was surprised that the Dark Lord was not at his usual position at his desk. He had been building a belief that Voldemort had been grafted to that chair, only released when his various dastardly schemes required him to move about. But instead of sitting in his desk, Harry found Voldemort sitting on the wide sill of the window behind it, a cigarette between his fingers. Harry gave an incredulous lift of his eyebrow to the back of Voldemort's head and glanced several times between the Dark Lord and the cigarette before stepping forward.

"Filthy habit that, Tom. Never pictured you to have such a dirty addiction."

Crimson eyes shot over to him, apparently having been caught off guard. Harry was nearly worried now. Voldemort was never caught off guard, and Voldemort did not make a habit of smoking muggle cancer sticks out the window like a rebellious teen. Harry narrowed his eyes as Voldemort sighed. "Why are you here, Potter?"

"Tom? What in the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

"Eight of my men were lost in a raid last night. Three of them dead. Bellatrix, the elder Nott, McNair, and both Lestrange brothers all captured. They were the strongest of my Inner Circle, bar Lucius."

Harry cringed, knowing what a blow to them this was. Their forces were limited, after all, and would continue to be until the next generation had graduated Hogwarts. Harry seated himself opposite Voldemort on the wide sill, propping up his foot and laying his arm across it casually. "Well, Halloween is Tuesday, so we can't do much at the moment, but if you think they can wait a week or so, we can go after them then."

"They might be Kissed by then." Voldemort paused in his line of thought, seeming to truly look at him for the first time as Harry let his head fall back, exposing his face from the shadows of his hood. "Why in Salazar's name do you look like that?"

Harry blinked in confusion a few times before groaning and fishing his potion from his pocket. "It's early and I didn't want to risk getting seen or heard while Reverting. I have issues limiting the range of silencing wards and such spells in an open area, so I can't hide in the daytime."

"You need more training. And you don't have to bother with the potion if you don't feel the need to use it… though it is rather bizarre seeing you like that."

Harry grimaced. "I prefer to be in my real body as much as possible, thank you very much; I hate these months of feeling weak… and _short_… "

Voldemort snorted as Harry put the dropper to his tongue and let a single drop of the fluorescent orange potion fall onto it, capping the vial quickly to prevent it from spilling as the pain hit. He had taken to wearing clothing that would fit his altered form under his robes on days when he would be visiting Voldemort's base of operations, and therefore simply braced himself for the pain.

He refused to scream in front of Voldemort. Categorically refused. Despite the fact that they were no longer enemies, Harry would not show such weakness in front of the most powerful wizard alive. He gritted his teeth as his bones elongated, muscles and tendons following. He stifled a keening whimper that crawled from his throat without his consent, curling slightly in on himself as the pain began to subside, a heaving breath leaving his throat. The frequent transformations had begun taking their toll on his body, making the transformations more and more painful. He looked forward to Christmas when he would be able to spend two weeks in his natural state. It would help him to continue.

Breathing deeply, Harry opened eyes he hadn't been aware had clenched shut to find his vision full of black fabric. As his brain caught up with him, he had to force down a blush as he jerked away from Voldemort's chest where he had fallen in the midst of his transformation. "Eh, sorry Tom."

Voldemort rolled crimson eyes but nodded, settling back against the windowsill despite his cigarette being long finished. It was strangely comfortable to sit in the autumn sun, feeling the breeze. He was watching Harry from the corner of his eye as Harry pulled off his now tight Hogwarts robe and pushed himself back onto the wide ledge, fingers unconsciously playing with a segment of impossibly long black strands.

Harry didn't notice when Voldemort raised his brow at the nervous gesture, perturbed by the uncommon weaknesses that Harry was displaying. Usually Harry managed to make everyone forget his relatively young age, a mask of cheeky sarcasm and teasing wit concealing that the young man had never really had a normal stage of his life. He went from a childhood in which he was treated like a servant instead of a child, to an adolescence where he was treated as a weapon instead of a youth, finally ending up to a coming of age in which he spent all of his time being trained by immortals who had relatively no understanding of human emotion.

"Is… something the matter?" Voldemort asked with halted speech, being rather inept at emotions himself, though his predicament was mostly by choice.

Green eyes shot up to him and a grimace crossed Harry's features. "What makes you ask?"

"I think if nothing were wrong you would not be braiding tiny sections of your hair. Unless, of course, you've suddenly decided to add that to your style. Add some little barrettes I'm sure all the primary school girls will be flocking to our troops."

Harry immediately shoved his hands into his lap. "Hah bloody hah. You're hilarious, Tom, honestly. Have you considered being a stand-up?"

"Ah yes, it was my second career choice you know. I always knew if I didn't make it in ruling the world, I could fall back on my fabulous comedic talent."

"I see, and here I thought you would survive off your dashing good looks."

Voldemort laughed, not the high-pitched cackle he was known for, but a lower ranged chuckle that made crimson eyes dance. "You so enjoy poking fun at me, don't you Potter?"

Harry frowned. "How many times must I tell you to call me Harry, Tom?"

Noticing the change in mood, Voldemort cut off any other witty comebacks. "Quite a few more times, I suppose. It seems too personal to call you by your given name. Our history demands distance."

Harry shoved a hand through his long hair cutting his eyes to the window. "It has been ten years since we fought, for me. Ten years in which I gained perspective on the past and politics, and since I was given the ability to take control of my own life. I admit that I disliked the idea of allying myself with you, but I thought in the last months we had gained something of a friendship, Tom. Surely you can at least call me by my first name."

"It may have been ten years for you, but it has been less than six months for me. I spent over a decade plotting your demise, it's difficult to assimilate myself to working side by side with you instead. It is getting easier, but you have to give some margin for error, here. And I do not have _friends_, Potter, I have minions and allies. In the current state of things, a Dark Lord cannot afford something like friendship."

"That's bollocks, Tom, and you know it! Fine, I get that you are finding it hard to see me as anything but your next _Avada Kedavra_, but don't you dare tell me you cannot have a friend. Do you sit down with all your minions and allies and talk about your childhoods? No. You don't. I know this because almost no one even knows of your true heritage, let alone that you grew up in a muggle orphanage. Allies don't do that. _Friends_ do."

Voldemort glowered, lipless mouth pursing tightly. "What do you want from me, Potter?"

"I… " Harry trailed off, brow furrowing. "I don't know, Tom. Just… stop treating me like one of your damned Death Eaters."

"If I was treating you as a Death Eater, you would be held under the Cruciatus every ten minutes for your cheek. I treat you nothing like that."

"Yet you still manage to refer to many of them by their first names."

Voldemort stopped and glanced away, knowing the younger man had him there. But he honestly couldn't bring himself to acknowledge this… friendship that had been building steadily in the months since Potter's tornado-like entrance into his manor. His life had been overturned with the presence of the young man, totally wrecking havoc on his long ignored emotions, his patience, and his libido. He didn't know how long he could continue to remain aloof from the man across from him, but he would be damned if he would give in so easily.

"Given time, I am sure I can do the same for you, Potter, but for now… this will have to do."

Harry sighed and nodded jerkily, obviously still annoyed but acquiescing for the moment. His lips thinned to a line as he once again turned his gaze out the window, staring up to the clouds with a pensive expression. The pair stayed in silence for long minutes, Harry enjoying the quiet. Even before his ten year hiatus from Hogwarts the constant presence of others had been overwhelming much of the time. He had, after all, spent his entire life before Hogwarts being ignored ninety percent of the time; even in the presence of his friends Harry had always found it difficult not to feel stifled. He supposed it was conditioning that made him so craving of the silence.

Voldemort finally broke the reprieve after many long minutes of watching the sky, tilting his head towards Harry and giving in to his curiosity. "You never answered. What has you so preoccupied today?"

Harry motioned with a hand for one of the cigarettes Voldemort had pulled out, deciding that if it worked to relax Voldemort of all people, then it had a chance of helping him a bit. "The reality of my choices are catching up with me, I think. Sceaduwe was like another world… well, it _was_ another world, but I mean it was like this one didn't exist." Harry cursed his fumbling conversation skills. "My decisions are my own, and I would never feel right trying to mold myself to the Wizarding world's expectations, but I can't help but look at the people I am losing."

"Did something happen?"

Harry snorted and made a face at the cigarette, disliking the taste and sensation. "I received my reply letter from Remus the other day."

"Who is he?"

"The last of my father's friends, Remus Lupin. The werewolf." At Voldemort's nod he continued, "I sent him a letter at the end of summer, hinting towards my situation and allegiances. I had hoped that since I was the last link to my parents for him as he is for me, that he might follow me. I was wrong."

"I wasn't under the impression that you two were close."

"…We weren't, I suppose. He is a brilliant man; I learned a lot from him when he taught Defense in my third year. But I never knew the whole truth until he was leaving, and he did so much Order business that I hardly ever got to speak to him after. But from Sirius, I learned a lot about him, and the few times we managed to spend time together I found him a wonderful companion."

Voldemort tipped his head back to rest against the lacquered wood, eyes closed. "I don't understand family, so I can't be of much use to you on this. I have never had anything resembling affection or friendship, so I can't hope to understand why this upsets you enough to drop your guard. But from what I have witnessed in others, the least expected things tend to happen. You may act more like a Slytherin now than you used to, but you're still very much a Gryffindor, Potter. Let your famous stubbornness lead you."

Harry chuckled weakly, snuffing out the cigarette and deciding they really didn't work to relax him and tasted foul to boot. On the other hand, Voldemort himself seemed to do the job just fine with his emotionally-stunted ruminations, helping Harry to realize that he wasn't the only one with little understanding of pleasant emotions.

He felt rather silly for acting so out of character and unsure, but his heart lightened as he watched Voldemort turn away after imparting his advice, scowling at himself. Harry didn't understand this connection they had, the ease he felt in the presence of the older man, but he knew he wouldn't take advantage of it. He appreciated the bond they had forged too much to.

Harry smiled. "That was surprisingly comforting, Tom. You're getting better at this."

A snort. "Shows what you know."

Harry shook his head rapidly, attempting to clear it of his bleak thoughts. "Enough of this dreary nonsense, let's talk about the bloodshed on Halloween!"

"And that isn't dreary?"

"Not when you're me, it's not."

The Dark Lord chuckled. "Touché. Morbid brat."

"Look who's talking."

Voldemort only looking skyward in exasperation.

Harry smirked and shrugged before getting down to business. "So, how are we going to get you into Hogwarts tomorrow?"

"I'm not going to. I think you can handle it well enough, and it will serve as a true exposure of the new Dark Lord Mylläkkä if you manage Hogwarts on your own. At the same time, I will go to Azkaban and pull out those who were captured. It will be a two-sided attack and will leave the Ministry scrambling."

Harry smirked. "Well, I suppose I can handle it on my own. Makes things easier, hmm?"

Voldemort cackled and grinned, exposing his teeth. "The Wizarding world is in for a surprise if they think that a decade as a spirit made me any less lethal."

Harry grinned back.

* * *

Harry awoke on Halloween morning with a heavy weight on his chest, putting him immediately on guard. He had arrived back by the end of dinner the night before, thankfully, and had passed off his absence as a long walk around the lake. Hermione had been narrow-eyed at this, but everyone else seemed to take it at face value. He had gone to sleep in order to be well rested for the festivities of the evening, knowing this was an important night.

Harry called up his magic; though he couldn't control his magic wandlessly, he had an affinity for using it as a brute force. It was something of a one-time thing, but it was handy for knocking away opposition as a last option. He snapped open his eyes and prepared to blast whatever laid upon him away, when he got a glimpse of the source of the weight. He sighed and let his magic settle, glaring at the glowing yellow eyes that looked on from a few inches away.

A quick silencing spell later and Harry was attempting to sit up under the weight, glaring all the while. _//What in the hell are you doing here, Nagini? Not that I'm not always pleased to see you, but as I just saw Tom last night, he can't possibly miss me already.//_

The snake flicked her tongue at him in a huffy manner. _//Master wished me to be your accomplice tonight, brat.//_

_//How were you able to enter the grounds?//_

_//I am a creature, why wouldn't I be able to? The Ill-will wards do not effect non-humanoid beings. After all, our natural instincts have to do with harm, so they cannot keep us away that way, or else the centaurs and other beasties in the forest would not be there.//_

Harry stared at her incredulously. _//Then why did you never sneak in and kill me? It would have been easy.//_

_//Master is vainglorious, he would not allow any but himself to kill you.//_

_//Makes sense.//_ Harry could practically hear Voldemort complaining in Nagini's mind.

_//In any case, Master has sent me to be of assistance to you.//_

_//I'm not sure how much good you can be, Nagini. I think I have it figured out.//_

_//I can provide watch for you, so you are not surprised as you carry out your plans.//_

Harry had to admit that it would be helpful, as Dante would be teaching a class when he carried out his plan. _//Alright then. You will have to wait for me here, because there is no way I will risk having you follow me through my classes.//_

_//I'm not a hatchling, brat, I could figure that out on my own. But leave warming charms. And a nice mouse or six. I'm hungry.//_

Harry sighed and bowed as well as he could around the large coils that draped over his lap. _//As you wish, madam.//_

* * *

Care of Magical Creatures was his last class of the day, and halfway through learning the differences between Bicorns, Unicorns, Thestrals, and other equine creatures, Harry gave an excuse to Ron and Seamus about not feeling well. Their pitying looks confirmed that they would believe it because of the date, just as he planned. He had acted jumpy and morose the entire day, playing on the ill-fated day as the reason for his odd mood.

He walked quickly to his dorms, taking the flights of stairs quickly as he tried to keep himself from running. He had less than two hours to complete his plan; it had to be done before classes let out for the evening. Time was of the essence.

He arrived in the Gryffindor common room to find it empty, and he jogged up the stairs to his room. He unlocked his drapes and found Nagini sleeping ensconced in his bedding, and it took him a few precious minutes to convince the snake to get up. Stabbing at her head with his finger, he hissed profanities about lazy reptiles until she was insulted enough to awaken and curse at him. While the long black snake whinged about his cruelty in interrupting her beauty sleep, he ignored her pointedly and strapped a wickedly shaped dagger to each thigh.

Harry proceeded to Disillusion both himself and Nagini, draping the snake over his shoulders and applying his Invisibility cloak overtop of them as an added precaution. He would not be seen. Harry snatched the Marauder's Map from under his pillow and set out, using his abilities to his advantage as he dodged the few people with a free block or those who were skiving class.

He reached the tower in record time, as he had never been eager to go there before, and let the Disillusioned Nagini off at the base of the ladder. _//Wait here. If anyone comes near, paralyze them. No unnecessary deaths.//_

The snake gave an irritated hiss. _//Fine.//_

Harry pulled himself up the ladder to the room he had always dreaded entering in his younger years, a grin spreading across his lips as he saw his target alone, surrounded by the noxious incense that she seemed to think added some kind of 'ambiance'.

He pulled off his cloak and cancelled the Disillusionment spell over him, grinning ferally as the woman jumped in surprise. "Why hello Professor Trelawney… "

* * *

Revised: 3/18/09 (Lame chapter. I can't find a way to fix it without messing with later chapters. Will try again once the fic is complete.)

* * *


	14. Sanguinary

Disclaimer: I do not own.

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

Warning for some gore.

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Sanguinary // full of or characterized by bloodshed; bloody_

* * *

Sybill Trelawney blinked in her owlish way at the boy who had appeared before her, using a bony finger to push up her glasses. "What are you doing here, my dear?"

Harry pulled out his secondary wand and flicked it at the opening that lead into her classroom, sealing it off at least temporarily and silencing the room. Trelawney began fidgeting in the silence as he pulled off his school robes.

"Are you perhaps considering taking my class again? You just don't have the talent, my dear boy, it would be a fruitless endeavor! Of course, I Saw you coming to me, begging to be taught… but I am afraid I must refuse you, dear, dear boy! Without the Sight, one cannot learn!"

Harry raised an eyebrow and leveled his wand at the hollow of her throat. "You're annoying," he drawled, intoning a spell Harry affectionately referred to as the Mannequin curse, as it left the body poseable from the neck down. It didn't stop the victim from screaming though; it was that feature that made Harry like it all the more. He tilted his head at the morbidly widened eyes of the witch, smirking at her. "Did you foresee _this_, Professor?"

Trelawney jerked her head, and Harry could see the panic setting in. Surely the reality of her situation would be hitting her now, no matter how air-headed she was. "Y-Your aura speaks of darkness, my dear boy. What have you done? Evil emanates from your v-very soul! Repent now, my dear, r-repent so that it does not consume you!"

Harry stared at the woman blankly, eyebrows slowly climbing upward. "You're totally nutters, you know that don't you?"

Magnified eyes blinked rapidly as the woman fought to stay in control. "The recent full moon has affected your mind, my dear boy! Reconsider your path, await the turning of the moon and you shall have a clear path laid before you!"

Harry ignored the woman's ranting, pulling her arms out in a downward slope as if she was reaching for a child. From his thigh he pulled one of his curved daggers, relishing in the audible speeding of the witch's heart. He deftly cut through the gaudy sleeves of her robes, the material parting to expose her arms and falling against her frozen torso. He grinned widely. "My path is already clear, _my dear_."

"B-but the darkness is contaminating you! You are not in your right mind! You've seen the _Grim_ haven't you?!"

Harry merely chuckled and pressed the blade into her skin at the base of her thumb on her right hand, ignoring her screeches. He avoided the major veins as he trailed the blade up her arm, licking his lips as the scent of blood reached his nose. "I wish I had more time to play with you, Professor, but unfortunately my time here is severely limited. So as fun as it would be to spend hours stripping the skin from your body, I'm afraid I have to make the most of the time I have…" he reached the shoulder and pushed the blade in hard, shoving it through clean to the back.

Harry couldn't resist the urge to lean forward, running his tongue across the red rivulets that now nearly covered his former Professor's arm. Blood borne of pain was always much more sweet, somehow. He wished he could hold her under the Cruciatus as he carved her up, but the wards would log his magical signature. He couldn't have the game ruined so quickly, after all.

"Y-you're psychotic! Oh, how could I have not read the signs correctly? You have been tainted so long that it has finally corrupted your very _mind, _my boy! Oh woe…"

Harry snorted and trailed his fingers over hers, lingering on the tip of her pinkie before snapping it cleanly. She gibbered out nonsense, begging him to stop. Harry was pleased to ignore her. "I'm not a psychopath, I'm a sociopath, Professor. I am not at all insane, I merely don't have many of your petty morals. Psychopaths don't know the difference between right and wrong, sociopaths do and just don't care. Understand, my dear?"

He again took a long swipe of the blood that welled in the deep gash of her arm with his tongue, not needing it at the moment but enjoying his personal ambrosia nonetheless. He might as well not waste the blood, even if he couldn't bite her. He didn't want it known that the Lord Mylläkkä was a vampire just yet. It would only serve to further the prejudice and fear, and it would likely make life harder for Dante as well.

He cut a path over her collarbones, letting the blade push a bit deeper into the hollow of the witch's throat, ignoring her screams and frowning a bit as he realized that anything further would be difficult. After all, he didn't want her to end up nude, so he couldn't cut overmuch… that would make him rather ill. He also didn't want her dying yet, so it limited his choices. He sighed and lifted the blade from her neck, again moving his hand to rapidly snap two more of her fingers.

"Merlin, stop, please! Why are you doing this?!"

"You're an example, Professor, and I apologize that it must be you… but honestly, maybe you should have thought better of predicting a student's death at every turn, hmm?" he twisted her thumb harshly and squeezed, feeling the bone shatter. The mangled fingers hung limply, unable to move out of the positions they fell in.

Harry positioned the blade to hover near her navel as her voice, hoarse and harsh from screaming, began rambling again. "Oh, what terrible calamities fog your future! They cover you, seeping into your mind until it is twisted and rotten. What will more blood do to your soul? I am truly sorry such an evil has been visited on you, dear child…" Harry shoved the blade into her stomach, holding it in place to prevent her entrails from falling out and killing her.

After that, she only screamed.

Harry transfigured a forgotten pencil from the ground into a wooden bowl, pressing it underneath the wound and twisting the blade. It only took a few slices to fill the bowl nearly to the brim, and he drank the slowly cooling life from it happily, watching Trelawney's twisting face and listening to her screams. They were high-pitched and unpleasant, much less appeasing than, say, Lucius's, but the sounds of pain were always satisfying on a base level that Harry often attributed to his vampirism. He drank enough of the blood to be sated, before in twisting the blade harshly and filling the bowl once more.

His time was growing short, he knew. He couldn't afford to linger much longer if his he was to get away with his plan. With a wave of his Blackthorn wand he sealed the bowl containing her blood, shrinking and pocketing it. He sighed, locking eyes with frantic pale green that were rolling in panic. "And now, dear Professor, our time comes to an end. Pity, really. We might have had much fun together. Alas, time is of the essence. Use your Inner Eye and See this future, hmm?"

Her eyes went glassy and her screams stopped abruptly, and Harry recognized the signs of Trelawney making a prophecy. He swore under his breath, annoyed that be couldn't just _kill her_ already and rid the world of the nuisance.

Even under the Mannequin spell, she swayed slightly in her trance. "The end comes near, shadows stretching and consuming. Darkness will creep over hills and sea, until nothing but despair breeds under its depressive cover. The full moon will watch as its child is thrust to the fore. Not all aims will be realized, nor all plans be for naught. One final confrontation shall decide the victor, the Light and Dark vying for supremacy. Only the binding of the Two can ensure the world's survival, the Power the Dark Lord knows not must be realized. A defied prophecy shall tell the tale. The end comes near…" she screamed as she rid herself of the trance, and Harry plunged his second blade into her chest.

She screamed no more.

* * *

Harry burrowed himself into the warm blankets of his bed, letting the comforter cocoon him. His wide grin was hidden by his pillow as he laughed out loud, relishing in the adrenaline that still ran through his system. Now the deed was done, and only the presentation remained. He had been locked within his bed for the last hour hoping that Ron or Hermione would come to wake him, securing his alibi, but since neither seemed inclined to fetch him for dinner, he would just make sure he was seen coming from the dormitories.

With a hissed farewell to Nagini, who would be leaving back to Voldemort in the melee of the next few hours, Harry looked himself over. His hair suitably mussed and his eyes convincingly bleary from the long minutes he had spent in the dark, Harry escaped the bindings of his bedclothes and made his way down to the common room, looking for all the world as if he had just awoken from a pre-dinner nap.

The common room was near-empty when he stepped into it, eyes skimming over a couple of seventh year girls that were crowded around the fireplace and a couple of younger students doing their homework sprawled across a plush rug. However, as always, the arrival of Harry Potter to a room caused heads to turn and eyes to track him, though he pretended not to notice. It was not as many witnesses as he might have wanted, but it would have to do. He made a show of yawning and stretching his arms over his head, looking around the room drowsily before starting for the portrait hole.

He hadn't even made it to the stairs when he was nearly mowed down by Professor McGonagall, hair pulled back tightly enough to look painful. She startled when she pulled back from him, hands up. "Oh, excuse me, Potter."

Harry inclined his head. "No worries Professor, I just wasn't watching where I was going. Where are you hurrying to?"

Stern eyes turned on him, scrutinizing as if she expected an ulterior motive to his question. "Dinner. One of the first year girls managed to set her drapes on fire."

Harry gave a smile to his Professor. She was too decorous for his tastes, but she always put her students before herself. It was refreshing in a world of Lockharts and Umbridges.

He gave a slight bow to the taciturn witch as they reached the Great Hall doors and went to their separate tables, Harry returning a wave from Ron as he pleaded silently to be saved from Hermione's wrath. It seemed Ron had done something to earn her ire again.

"Preposterous, Ronald! You're being as suspicious as a Slytherin right now, and I won't stand for it!"

For a long moment, Harry wondered if he was already that close to being found out. His own paranoia ran through him and he froze in mid-step, eyebrows raising as Ron groaned and buried his face in his hands. "I'm telling you, Hermione, there's something off about him!"

"And what is off? That he is the first intelligent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we've had since Professor Lupin?"

Harry's breath whooshed out of him, silently berating himself for being so paranoid. Being caught would be dangerous, though. He was surrounded by over half a school full of Light wizards who would like nothing more than to turn into a raving mass of panic at the first sign of 'Dark' activity. Even with his training and Dante at his back he would have a hard time escaping such a situation.

Harry stretched his back out as he took his place at the Gryffindor table, nodding every so often in a parody of the good listener. He honestly didn't hear more than every fifth or sixth word that Hermione was saying as she ranted on about Dante's better virtues; his mind was elsewhere. His mind was on the shock the Great Hall would soon receive and what his own reactions needed to be.

He carefully put food onto his plate and watched as all four House tables filled around him, a glint in his eyes as he waited for the opportune moment to unveil his masterpiece. It was when Dumbledore stood that Harry let his wand drop from his sleeve into his hand beneath the table.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore smiled benignly as the Great Hall filled with students, hundreds of young minds that were his responsibility… his to mold, his to nurture.

His life's work was in the room with him: these children that milled around him, their parents before them, their grandparents before that. He had spent the last fifty years as Headmaster shaping the Wizarding world into his perfect image, into the only way they would survive. The Light had grown stronger in his reign than it had ever been before. That was, at least until Tom Riddle had stepped up his games and intensified the quiet war that had been playing out in the background.

But it was alright. Tom's ten year defeat had given the Light time to celebrate, its followers feeling safe enough to reproduce in large numbers again. Those lost were replaced by the new generation, and he was the one in charge of bringing them up right. The Slytherins were a lost cause, of course, but that left the Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors to mold correctly. It would have to be enough.

His favorite student of them all had been worrying him this year, though. Harry had been withdrawn from even his friends, quiet and contemplative. He was reminding Albus far too much of a young Tom Riddle, before the initial Chamber of Secrets fiasco. He worried for his protégé and for the Light side.

But he knew he was only being silly. After all, had he not saved Harry from his life at the Dursleys' home? Had he not been the one to teach him of his parents after a lifetime of lies? Had he not been the one to help him free his Godfather? To believe him despite the circumstances? To save his life time and time again? The boy knew all this, surely, so he knew he had nothing to fear.

He hadn't made the same mistakes with him as he had with Tom. He had taken on an active role this time.

And now he had the perfect tool to take down his biggest failure.

He had not been expecting much that night at the Hog's Head in late 1979, though he had hoped to perhaps find a replacement Divination teacher. Instead he had gotten a boon in the form of a fluke prophecy, forecasting Tom Riddle's downfall at the hands of a yet unborn child. Where he had failed Tom he would again have a chance to succeed, changing the Wizarding world into the dream he had of it.

So what if he had left young Harry with the Dursleys? If the boy had been raised in the easy life of the Wizarding world, he would have been susceptible to the darkness Tom offered. This way, he had grown and persevered and come out stronger for it. Albus still had several decades of life left in him, and he refused to go until he had managed to shape the world properly and banished away the Darkness.

His benevolent smile widened as he stood, an instant hush falling over the hall. He loved the power he commanded over these children, the way their eyes lit up in awe as they looked to him. He was their Lord, their Master. He was all that was good in the world and he would pass on his righteousness to them. But not soon, because he planned to live much longer, yet.

He opened his mouth to speak, his eyes twinkling merrily, when the looks of awe and adoration morphed into fear and revulsion.

Then the screams began.

The students were cowering away now, several had begun vomiting onto their laps and plates. Some were crying, others frozen in shock. All their eyes were focused behind him, and Albus turned with trepidation.

His heart clenched at the sight, his blood pounding rapidly in his ears. The spectacle was above his eye level by a foot or so, leaving the view unobstructed to all the students in the hall. Hanging by wrists that were bound over her head, Sybill Trelawney was attached magically to the wall, glasses skewed across her face and mouth open in a silent scream. Blood stained her skin, her clothes, dripped indolently down the wall even still. Some of her innards hung limply from a long gash in her stomach.

But none of this caught Albus' attention.

Abover her head scrawled in harsh, dripping red lettering was the full prophecy. Every word of it. His hand raised of its own accord to clench his robes above his heart. How? How had they done it? Sybill herself had never even been aware of it, so how had they managed to get it?

A glowing ball that resembled a Prophecy Sphere hung around the corpse's neck, hovering. Albus broke from his daze and made to summon it when it crashed to the ground deafeningly, even over the clamor of the Hall. Everything went still as an unfamiliar voice trickled out of the broken glass.

_"Is my lovely ink running? Let me be sure you've gotten the gist of my message. '_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born as the seventh month dies._' Lovely, isn't it? Legilimency is a beautiful thing… the mind needs not be consciously aware of a fact for information to be stored there. Now the secret is out, Dumbledore. It seems it will be my friend Voldemort versus your Golden Boy. I wonder who will win? The child without any training, or the Dark Lord with decades of knowledge and experience? Children, I suggest you start looking at the war now, because if you are not with the Dark Sect, you are against it. All is never as it seems. Have a good meal now, children. You may call me Mylläkkä."_

Albus Dumbledore, for the first time in many, many years, was speechless and frozen. So much so that he stood staring up at the wall, at the now not-so-secret prophecy, at a loss.

It took Minerva's hand tugging on his sleeve to bring him from his daze.

He was getting too old for this.

* * *

Severus Snape gripped the table with pale hands, teeth clacking together. He had not been informed at all of this. He had been totally left out of the loop. He growled under his breath, tearing his eyes away from the gruesome display of blood and gaudy jewelry.

His black eyes sought Potter; the entire school was staring in various degrees of shock and disgust at the suspended corpse, shaking in fear after the message had played. It was positively disgusting, using such tactics, and Severus sneered harshly towards the boy.

Perhaps he was not his father after all. James Potter was likely rolling in his red and gold grave after such a violent display by his progeny. James Potter would have pleaded Gryffindor righteousness and would never have murdered in any form, let alone so viciously. The boy was truly Dark then… which, of course, was another thing James Potter never would have done.

But the boy had his father's arrogance, that was for sure. Even with his enlightenment of Potter's upbringing, he saw the arrogance. It was in the way he walked, the tilt of his jaw, in his disregard for the rules. The boy hardly tried in half of his classes, messing about with Weasley instead of actually applying himself, yet he still managed passing marks and the praise of hundreds. It was sickening to watch the rules seem to bend of their own accord for a mere boy, hardly aware of the power he held. Potter had no regard for others, like his father. He ran about late at night, had the Headmaster under his thumb like a proper little Golden Boy. He was everything James Potter was in an even more influential package, and Severus hated him for it.

But he was also a vampire. He was a Dark wizard and a vampire who held the position of partner to the Dark Lord. The mere thought of the child of James Potter being in such a position was mind boggling. It nearly gave him a headache when he considered it. Despite the similarities between the two Potters, he could see some of himself in the boy, in the calculating cast his face sometimes took to the subtle ways he was able to put people off of him, especially in the recent months. It was laughable, and he wished he could see the bastard one more time so he could rub it in his face.

But he still loathed the boy. No one should mistake that. He was mildly impressed at the job he had done on Trelawney, and perhaps his respect for him had gone up, but that was merely one wizard to another. From one man to another, he still saw nothing but a brat when he looked at the boy.

Said boy turned in that moment, locking mesmerizing green eyes with his. His heart clenched as it did every time those eyes met his. No matter how much the boy looked like James Potter in hair and jaw, his eyes, nose, and mouth were purely Lily Evans. He didn't understand how people didn't see her in him, choosing to look at the hair and coloring and dub him a clone of James Potter. He had so much of Lily in his appearance. Especially those eyes.

He hated those eyes.

It was like a physical blow every time Potter had looked at him for the last six years to see those eyes on a person who looked so like James Potter. To see those bewitching, beautiful eyes on a boy who was the epitome of a mixture between both Lily and James. To have proof before him every day reminding him of the girl he could never have had.

He had loved those eyes, once.

But he hated them now, no longer seeing a fiery girl with long auburn hair, defiance written in her very stance as she drew the attention of everyone around her. Headstrong and always virtuous, Lily was. She was beautiful not just in body, but in her fire and spirit as well. No woman Severus had ever seen could compare to her. One glare from her had always stripped away his defenses, instantly driving him on the defensive if only to salvage his pride. Because she could never turn those eyes on him when the blasted Marauders were not present, he had never been so lucky. Once the Marauders had been brought into the picture, Lily had drifted away from him, the beautiful girl he had met all those years ago drifting farther and farther away. But now those eyes were no longer singularly belonging to Lily. Now those eyes personified his losses, showed yet another thing James Potter had taken away from him.

Those eyes were on him now, piercing into his soul. Could this Potter read him as easily as his father could? Oh, James had known. He had known since their fourth year. It was when the torture had started, the endless stream of pranks. Could this boy see into his very soul with those eyes so like Lily's? They were not perfectly alike at all, he knew. Potter's eyes were darker, not in hue, but in the shadows they held. Harry Potter had seen a hard life until this point, from abusive relatives to near-death experiences every year since being rescued from them. The shadows that swept through Potter's eyes was all Severus could focus on at moments like this, needing a tangible hold on reality, reminding him that this was _not_ Lily.

Lily was gone. Lily was dead. And it was his own damned fault.

He had given over the first lines of the prophecy, after all. He hadn't realized she was pregnant when he had given the information over, hadn't considered that those words could possibly mean _her_ child, that she could get caught up in the mess. It was this that had sent him running to Dumbledore, realizing that he had put her into jeopardy. And it was this that had ultimately killed her.

And people wondered why he was so cynical.

Potter smirked infuriatingly before turning away, putting on a mask of righteous fury at this new enemy. Severus's smirk was sardonic and black eyes focused on the charmed ceiling.

Just who was Harry Potter, really?

* * *

A/N: This chapter was written a few weeks before Deathly Hallows. Yay for being unintentionally canon. XD

Revised: 3/19/09 (Redundancy chapter of redundancy? Jeez. Another thing that will need super attention when this is all over.)


	15. Pestiferous

Disclaimer: I do not own.

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Pestiferous // evil and corrupting_

* * *

Hermione's eyes slowly tracked from the dead body of Sybill Trelawney, brown eyes wide and tear filled, looking at Harry with an air of confusion. "Did you know?"

For a moment Harry's heart stopped. "Know what, Hermione?"

The witch took a shuddering breath, using the heels of her hands to banish the welling tears. "The prophecy. _Did you know_?"

Harry regarded her with a wary air, having forgotten that he hadn't told his friends. "Yes," he said. "Dumbledore told me at the end of term."

Hermione closed her eyes with a pained sob and Ron's angry face suddenly turned to him, slightly green around the gills at the sight of the corpse but fury overriding his disgust. "You knew?! Why didn't you tell us, mate? Why wouldn't you tell us something that important?!"

Harry looked away, unable to hide his agitation. "It doesn't concern you."

"We're your friends, Harry!" Hermione burst, standing from her seat and drawing the attention of most of the hall. "How could you not tell us about this? How could you leave us in the dark?!"

Harry stood as well, eyes narrowed and his voice cold. "Did it say, 'The three friends with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approach'? No! It didn't! It says _the one_. This will be my fight, my war, and you will not get in my way! Either I kill him or he kills me, no one else can do anything!" Gasps rang off the walls of the Great Hall as those who hadn't understood the prophecy or who were in shock finally understood.

His words were laced with honest annoyance, but he was going to make the best of the situation. He had to confirm for the students of Hogwarts that Harry Potter was the one expected to kill Voldemort. When his defection was realized, they would have to know that he was the one prophesized to kill him and realize how lost the Light was.

Hermione grabbed Ron's arm as the redhead made to leap over the table, fists clenched and ready to strike out at his best friend. Hermione glanced around at their audience and spoke lowly. "We'll be talking about this tomorrow, Harry."

Harry raised an eyebrow but nodded, ignoring the fearful whispers that filled the hall as someone finally took charge and sent them to their dorms.

* * *

The castle had a mournful air the next day, students less boisterous than usual. Breakfast was somber, and Harry had to stifle the urge to laugh. Trelawney had been a mockery, one of the least favorite teachers to students and staff members alike, yet now they all acted as if they had lost their closest friend. It was rather funny in a morbid way, and Harry snorted under his breath.

Apparently, the noise had not been quiet enough, as Hermione's face whipped around to him with narrowed eyes. Harry looked away from his friend, ignoring the suspicion written plainly on her face. He thought she might have said something if the morning post had not arrived in that moment, copies of the Daily Prophet being dropped in several places. Hermione tore at her own to see the front page, rapidly paling. Harry pried it from her stiff fingers and made a show of looking angry, concerned, and morally outraged as he scanned the article.

**Halloween Horror!**

By Trish Pettingale

_Halloween was full of more ghouls and terror last night than ever before. In a bold and frightening move, You-Know-Who managed a double strike against the world, successfully breaking into Azkaban once again and as well as infiltrating Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_The first alarms were sounded by Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, informing the Ministry that somehow an agent of Voldemort had not only gotten into the school but had killed Divination Professor Sybill Trelawney. "It was revoltin'!" a source from the crew sent to retrieve the body told his reporter. "She was pinned up in the Great Hall, insides fallin' out o' her where all the wee kiddies could see! And there were words, words written in blood! Sounded wonky, sayin' who would defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or some such nonsense!"_

_This reporter was understandably shocked to learn this, but was so far unable to learn the words that were written. Was there a prophecy made foretelling the fall of You-Know-Who? If so, why have none of us heard about this until now? And what would You-Know-Who gain from revealing said prophecy? The biggest question to this reporter, however, is: how did You-Know-Who manage to get into Hogwarts? Isn't it lauded as one of the most secure locations in Wizarding Britain? How did they get past Albus Dumbledore?_

(For more on reactions to such a terrible offense happening so close to the children of our world, see page four.)

_Less than an hour after Sybill Trelawney's murder, alarms pierced the night within the Ministry, signaling a break in the wards of the most secure place of all -- Azkaban. Once again He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has broken in and this time the Dementors have gone with him. Due to the chaos that has come of this, we are not even aware of how many of his followers he was able to liberate, though we assume that the captures of Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Warden McNair, and Thomas Nott earlier this week have now been voided. It is unclear if You-Know-Who freed others as well, however._

_Seventeen Aurors were killed in the battle that ensued as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named made to leave with his followers, including the highly decorated Alastor Moody, Second-in-command Gawain Robards, and Senior Auror Kingsley Shacklebot, all three reportedly killed by You-Know-Who himself. Only two Death Eaters are confirmed dead, neither of their identities known at this time._

_Is this a sign that You-Know-Who's reign is going to be once again like it was twenty years ago? Are any of us safe if both Hogwarts and Azkaban were infiltrated? Are our children safe? These questions and more plague this reporter, but I think I speak for everyone when I say that we must find the answers._

Harry crumpled the paper in a fit of annoyance, both real and put-on, scowling down at his plate. He needed to be upset about the deaths caused to the eyes of the Great Hall, but inside he was a mess of calculations. Seventeen aurors! Mad-Eye, even! His respect for Voldemort rose a few notches. He had always known the man powerful, but it was different imagining him beating Moody than it was knowing he had managed to outsmart him as a teen. He didn't know about Robards, but Kingsley was a good duelist and though Moody was getting on in age, he was one of the best out there. That Voldemort had managed to take all three of them out on his own while under fire from at least a couple dozen other Aurors, if the death count was any hint, was impressive.

He wondered who from their side was killed, though. Two wasn't that bad, but depending on who the two were it could complicate things. Certain people being unveiled as Death Eaters would cause a chain of other identities revealed, and that could cause them a plethora of problems. And personally he was hoping it was not either Pettigrew or Lucius, as he held personal stock in both of them. Pettigrew's death was his, and Pretty was far too fun to die. And they needed Lucius in the Ministry, of course, but at the moment Harry only cared that his toy was unharmed.

An owl swooped to him as he contemplated, and he pulled off the letter with confusion. No one really ever wrote him, and he was confused as to why someone was now. He sucked in a breath when he recognized the handwriting, willing himself to not draw attention to himself. Thankfully, Hermione was stuck in thought-mode, going over the slightly wrinkled Daily Prophet article again.

He turned his eyes down to the letter he held, unfolding it slowly and breathing out in relief as he read the first line:

_Potter-_

_Stop hyperventilating, brat, this letter is spelled against anyone reading it who isn't a Parselmouth. Handy spell, isn't it? I found it in one of Slytherin's descendants' books. Since Parseltongue doesn't have a written language (why would snakes need to write?), this was wizards' substitution. To anyone else this will leave the impression of a letter from one of your ever-adoring fans._

_As I'm sure you've managed to perceive by this point, last night was a success. We only lost Marcus Flint and Alecto Carrow, and neither important enough to be missed or connected enough for there to be much reverberation. There are some concerns I have, but I will save them for another time._

_I am obviously not writing for your entertainment. I will be going out of the country for the month of November, seeking a spellsmith in Norway. In the meantime we will obviously not be holding our weekly meetings, though I will be calling a meeting once I return. I'm sure you can mange without my wonderful presence for that long, can't you Potter?_

_-Dark Lord Voldemort_

Harry snorted and pulled out his Holly wand, pointing it at the letter and letting it crumble to ash and fade to nothing. Hermione's eyes hadn't even turned from the paper, and she hadn't even been aware he'd had a letter. It was all for the better; he didn't want to test if that spell of Voldemort's worked.

Dumbledore stood then, announcing that to mourn those who had bravely died the night before, classes would be cancelled for the day. Hermione and Ron stood to leave, the brunette tucking the paper into her bag for further thought, Harry trailing along behind them as they made their way to the Room of Requirement to talk. They had been making an effort all morning to treat him normally, as if the night before had never happened, but he could see the tension in their 'casual' movements. Now, however, he listened to their debate from where they walked side-by-side in front of him, less amused by the minute.

"I'm telling you, I think it was him! We've never had an attack this bad in Hogwarts, and all of the Defense professors have been bad in one way or another. He's probably this Mylläkkä guy!"

"Honestly, Ronald, you're being silly now. Do you really think the Headmaster would let a _Dark Lord_ teach here?"

"What about the fake Moody? Dumbledore didn't know then! And what about Quirrell? The guy had Voldemort _on the back of his head_! There's something real fishy about Pierce, and I think Dumbledore's losing it in his old age. A person can only totally miss the obvious so many times, you know."

Harry couldn't help his own silent agreement with Ron, though he was slightly stunned at his friend's opinions on Dumbledore. Though anything Dark still sent Ron into fits, the boy obviously had gained some perspective through the years.

"That's _Professor_ Dumbledore, Ron. And besides, Professor Pierce couldn't possibly be this new Dark Lord."

"How do you figure, Hermione?" Ron said with an agitated glare, obviously annoyed at the lofty tone of her voice. Harry was hard-pressed not to nod in agreement, though or different reasons. He was honestly curious about why she was so adamant of his innocence.

"Because he's obviously a vampire."

Harry tripped over his feet in shock, turning wide eyes on the brunette. "Wait, what?!"

Ron was bleached white, mouth agape, choking noises occasionally escaping his throat.

Hermione sighed, pushing her unruly curls over her shoulder and planting her hands on her hips. "Really, you two! You pay so little attention that I wonder how you've both survived this long! He has an aversion to sunlight, his grace and speed are obviously preternatural, his speech patterns are often bordering on archaic, he never eats when he's in the Great Hall, his pupils are _slitted_… how much more proof do you need?"

Harry's mind raced to take in this new development. Dante had planned to reveal his Vampirism in the aftermath of Halloween in order to distance himself from the possibility of having committed the crimes; as a full vampire who was forced onto Blood Replacers for as long as Dante had been (a medical scan would be able to confirm this) would be nearly unable to resist biting a dying human in the presence of that much blood. A full vampire had more control than Harry did in his strange hybrid form, but even with that control, two months of the potions would test their limits. It would only present itself in the case of a lot of blood, but that was just the kind of situation they were now faced with.

However, it appeared that Hermione had known for quite some time that their professor was not human and was utterly fine with it. He hadn't honestly thought she would have a problem, being muggleborn and without the pureblood prejudices that children on the Light side and many of the ones on the Dark had grown up with. He well remembered her easy acceptance of Remus' Lycanthropy until she had thought he had betrayed them. It was Ron's ghost-white face and seeming inability to move that worried him. He would now see just how badly his oldest friend would react.

Harry shrugged and looked away from them both. "Whatever, it isn't a big deal. If he didn't kill her we just have to figure out who did, right?"

Ron choked. "Just like that? Just like that you're fine that there is a _vampire _teaching in our school? We'll all be killed! A _vampire!!_ Don't you two know anything? Vampires only ever come around humans to kill them; they don't take jobs just for the fun of it! They're creatures who feed off pain and blood, they want to kill off all us wizards! We're doomed…"

Ron's words hurt, honestly, but they weren't terrible. He'd honestly expected a lot worse. Then again… he didn't know his 'best mate' was a vampire, either. If he did, Harry thought the words would be much worse despite the time they spent together.

Harry watched as Hermione puffed up under the redhead's prejudice, and Harry easily recognized her righteous S.P.E.W. fury building. "Ronald Bilius Weasley! He has been teaching us for two months now and no one has ended up dead until just last night! You're being a thoughtless bigot! I thought you had actually grown up a bit in the last year, but obviously you have not. Do you remember third year? Until you met Professor Lupin you thought all werewolves were vicious animals. Do you forget how wrong you were then?!"

Harry sighed and began trying to walk away, glad for Hermione's words but not in the mood to listen to her in lecture mode. However, Ron saw him edging away from them and blue eyes narrowed. "You too, mate? You believe this crap she's spouting?" Ron's voice raised several octaves as he mocked Hermione's shrill tones, "'Honestly Ronald, Vampires are just like _puppies_! They like rainbows and hugs and bearbees(1) and would never hurt anyone!'"

Hermione's face turned brilliant red in her fury and Harry narrowed his eyes. "You're being an idiot Ron. Shut up while you're ahead."

The redhead, as usual, seemed disinclined to listen to sound advice. "So you _are_ buying this rubbish! Blimey, Harry, I knew being raised muggle made you a bit less quick on these things, but I thought you at least had sense! You're both nutters if you think we're all going to be fine with a vampire running around the school! Dumbledore is totally off his rocker!"

Harry didn't think he could listen any more. It was no less than he expected, but it surely didn't mean he had to like listening to the words coming out of his friend's mouth. He turned and stalked away, irritation boiling under his skin like a virus. He was not angry, but he was agitated beyond belief. This was just too much to deal with this early in the morning. He scowled and made to walked on, both Ron and Hermione's voices growing fainter as he turned the corner, eager to get away.

Of course, as seemed to be the norm, things couldn't be that easy.

"Well, well, Potter. Alone without your pets, I see?"

Draco was shocked when in less than a moment after he had spoken, Harry had grabbed him by the collar and thrown him against the hallway wall, lip curled up in a snarl. "I am _not_ in the mood for you right now, Malfoy. Get a life."

Draco paled as green eyes pierced him, and he stopped breathing as he felt his long-time rival's aura wash over him. It was nothing like it had ever been, and he was rather eruditely familiar with Harry's reactions when angry. Whereas in years past it had been like flame, licking and burning, now it was as cold as ice, still brushing over his senses like roaring flames but freezing. And it felt terrible, even to his own Dark magic, twisted and nearly sickening. He could still feel the other boy's flame-like magic, but it was buried underneath the second entity that had been confusing him all these months. This second aura of power is what was choking him now, silver eyes wide in fear.

"Have you forgotten already, Malfoy? Don't you remember what I told you at the beginning of the year? You're an idiot. You're a child and you have _no idea_ of anything, and you really need to learn to think before you speak. Your refusal to believe that someone could be more powerful than you is going to be your death."

Draco struggled, his father's words ringing in his ears. His father had specifically told him to stay away from Potter a few days prior, and now Draco was wondering just what his father knew that he did not. It couldn't be this murderous look in Potter's eye, as his father had not seen Potter since the end of the year prior. But now he wished he had heeded his father's mandate. Now he couldn't even tell his father about this meeting without revealing that he hadn't listened. "Let go of me, Potter, you daft moron!"

"Next time think before you speak." Harry's voice was a hiss as he pressed into Draco, lips brushing against the blond's ear. "Do you know what I could do to you?" His voice was a purr and sent shudders through Draco with its malice. "I could make you suffer, Malfoy, make you scream. I could kill you with my bare hands without another soul hearing your last words. I could strip the skin from your body, leaving you alive all the while. I could drain every drop of blood from you with ease, leaving you a withered husk on the ground in some forgotten hallway, not to be found for years."

Draco stopped breathing, throat constricting with fear. He couldn't show the extent of his fear, he couldn't let Potter see that he was scared out of his mind. Draco forced down the urge to cower away and clenched his fists, concentrating on the pain of his nails digging into his skin.

Harry pulled away now, his voice back to a normal level. "Watch who you insult, Malfoy, because I do not have as many scruples as you think I do."

Harry grabbed the blond by the throat and threw him away, a loud crack signaling Malfoy's meeting with the wall as Harry walked away into the darkness.

Draco cursed violently as he stood, body shaking like never before. Who _was _that? Surely it couldn't be Potter; the words sounded more like the Dark Lord than the Golden Boy. Perhaps… wait, perhaps that was it? Was Potter _possessed_? That would explain the second aura, the malicious air around him, his father's warning to stay away. The hairs on the back of Draco's neck stood on end; the Light was so screwed.

And down the hall, unnoticed by either Draco or Harry, two sets of eyes had witnessed it all.

* * *

(1) Kyou Kara Maou reference. Bearbees are cute. XD Just Google them. Nogisu!

Revised: 3/19/09


	16. Heuristic

Disclaimer: I do not own.

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Heuristic // to point out, to reveal_

* * *

Hermione was fuming as she stormed away from Ron, her cloak billowing around her in a manner frighteningly similar to Snape on a good day. He was such a bigoted idiot! When first entering the Wizarding world, she had seen how different races worked together, and had foolishly believed that the Wizarding people were not prejudiced like muggles were… but she had been so wrong. Where muggles would persecute a person for their skin color, religion, or sexual orientation, wizards persecuted for blood purity and the acts of your parents before you. It was disgusting, and she had been sick of it from year one.

She could handle being called a mudblood, because though it was a paltry slur, she had only learned of it a few years prior. Most insults are only insults because of the way you are brought up, words you hear are bad from a young age. Mudblood, while rude, was easily ignorable to her. Besides, she knew very well that her parents were muggles. It didn't bother her. She felt blessed to have been gifted with magic, but she wouldn't trade her family for the world.

But then she had started to notice the state of things in the Wizarding world. A world that feared the name of its terrorist so much that they could not bear to even see it written, a world that enslaved a sentient being for their own use. Slavery in the muggle world had been a terrible, horrible thing, but she found it so much worse in the Wizarding world. At least in the muggle world the slaves might have run. House elves had no choice as they were magically bound to their masters, hardly able to think of freedom let alone attempt to attain it.

She had seen the way people had reacted to Remus Lupin -- poor, sweet Professor Lupin -- simply for a curse he had had no choice in bearing. There was no cure for lycanthropy, no way to stop himself from transforming. He had been dealing with it since he was a child, forced into a segregated world where he had to hide his affliction for fear of being killed for it. What had he ever done to anyone? Hermione didn't know, but it was just another thing that sickened her.

Perhaps wizards saw no difference between people for their race, in muggle terms, and perhaps one could love whomever they pleased openly… but the Wizarding world had its own unique set of prejudices that seemed even more petty and disgusting than those she had grown up seeing. And wizards thought themselves so much better? It was a travesty, and Hermione wished more than anything to be able to beat the Wizarding world over the head with their own idiocy.

She set after Harry intent on getting as far away from Ron as she could right then, still needing to talk to him, but more than anything needing to be around someone sane and reasonable for a while lest her temper get the better of her.

She rounded the corner and had to jam her knuckles into her mouth to stifle her gasp, quickly pulling herself back against the wall out of sight. She blinked rapidly and peeked around, sure she had to of been seeing things… but no. There was Harry flush against Draco Malfoy in a dark corridor. Her mind quickly ran through the possibilities. Their stance looked too… intimate for them to be fighting. Hermione blushed. Harry and Malfoy? Not in a million years! She peeked again, seeing Harry's face far too close to Malfoy's neck. By Merlin, it _couldn't_ be… right?

She wished she could hear what they were saying, assuming they were speaking. She was too far to hear or accurately read the pair's facial expressions, and her heart was thundering in her ears. Not that she had a problem with homosexuality, mind you, but she hadn't thought Harry was that way, let alone with _Malfoy_ of all people! She tried to think of another plausible reason why Harry would pressed thigh to chest with his rival, anything that would make sense. Nothing seemed to.

At least until she looked again.

Harry muttered something with a dark smirk on his face, a look so out of place that Hermione nearly gasped again, seized Draco by the neck and threw the blond away from him. Draco slumped down the opposite wall with a groan of pain. Harry stalked in the opposite direction from Hermione, leaving the brunette to hold a hand to her heart and stare after him with a perplexed look.

How could a person as gentle as Harry wear a look that malevolent?

What had they been saying?

How was Harry strong enough to bodily _toss_ Malfoy from him, a boy at least half a foot taller than him?

She didn't know, but she surely was going to find out… no matter where the truth led her.

* * *

Hazel eyes narrowed on the brunette witch who had come across the Potter and Malfoy boys in the hall. This could prove to be a problem. Had the girl been able to overhear any of Potter's rants? The watcher had been utterly intrigued by the surrounding darkness in the boy, the way his power had flared in his anger. It was nearly intoxicating, and unlike anything they had ever seen, even in the Dark Lord himself. But the thrill was short to last as the Granger chit was noticed peeking, undoubtedly trying to put the pieces together in her astute mind.

They considered Obliviating the nosy girl, but that might raise too many questions.

It was interesting to them that Potter was so incautious. Obviously, despite the Slytherin tendencies he had shown, he was still quite a Gryffindor underneath it all. He was meant to be undercover, yet he assaulted the Malfoy heir in the halls where anyone could have seen. And someone had. Was he so confident in his abilities that he thought he would not be caught? Or did he, perhaps, not care if he was found out?

The watcher didn't know, but it was an interesting thing to ponder.

They considered revealing themselves to the boy, allowing him to know that they had another ally in the school… but they thought better of it. If the Dark Lord had not seen fit to tell him, they would not either. The boy had shown no indication that he knew of their leanings, and until he did they would stay hidden in the shadows, waiting for the time to expose themselves.

What a day that would be.

They couldn't wait.

But until that day, they had a role to fulfill. With an agitated purse of their lips, the person slipped away into the shadows.

* * *

Harry walked the hallways silently, on his way to Dante's rooms for a sojourn. Since he didn't have his weekly visits with Voldemort this month, he had been visiting his friend every Friday evening to take his potions and ensure he wasn't caught doing it. Oftentimes he only stayed for an hour and then went out to hunt, taking his suddenly free evening to make sure his temper never got so short again, but most often he just took the time to relax in the company of someone who knew all his secrets and whom he was able to be himself around.

November was drawing to a close and there had been no word from Voldemort until that morning, and Harry had been annoyed to find that instead of anything informative it had been full of verbose descriptions of towering mountains and massive fjords lining the coast. Harry had never taken Voldemort as the type to wax poetic about scenery, but apparently he still had a lot to learn about his friend. The only information that had been given other than several paragraphs of rambling on about the beauty of Norway was that the spellsmith he was searching for remained elusive and his search could last until Yule. As it was the 29th of November, this aggravated Harry greatly for no reason he could understand.

Harry sighed inaudibly as he halted in front of the stone expanse that was the entrance to Dante's rooms, hissing out the Parseltongue override and slipping into the rooms. Dante was not there currently, but Harry made himself at home in front of the fireplace, pulling over a book he had found on his last visit on Vampire ritual magic. Dante likely had a detention or something teaching-related to deal with, so Harry would just relax until he returned.

Harry nearly salivated over blood rites and magics he found, wishing that he had the power needed for them. Unfortunately, Valerian had assured him that his vampiric magic would not be developed enough for at least another decade or more; it was not unheard of for it to take a century for it to be usable. And once the magic was accessible, it would begin corroding his wizard magic, slowly diminishing it to nothing. It happened to all Vampires who were originally wizards, the slow degradation of Wizarding power as their vampiric power rose. Dante was an anomaly, known as the only Vampire to keep his ability to use a wand more than a century; it made him all the more sought after as he had kept his with minimal corrosion even after nearly a millennium. Even Valerian had lost his Wizarding ability after seventy years.

This, however, meant that Harry would be unable to do much, if any, Vampire magic during the current war. He would have no shadow walking or summons, no elemental spells like Valerian was famous for. Harry sighed petulantly as he paged through the book, looking over all the things he would not be allowed to use.

A half an hour passed on this thread and Harry was quickly growing bored. Where was Dante, anyway? He replaced the book on the coffee table and began to flick through a sheaf of papers that were stacked neatly adjacent to Dante's armchair. It was his planner for his classes, and Harry snorted amusedly at his matter-of-fact statements about the ineptitude of his students. His amusement, however, was short-lived.

Harry sighed and pushed the papers back, frowning into the fire. Dante was a good teacher in his own way, and he was absolutely brilliant when he chose to apply himself. However, he hated teaching students he did not choose himself. Harry was at a loss as to why he would willingly take a job teaching teens when he could have his choice of students amongst the immortals. He knew, of course, that Valerian had requested for Dante to come back and watch over him, but it still made little sense to Harry that Dante would freely choose to teach at Hogwarts.

As he was lost in thought, he didn't realize Dante had returned until a hand fell onto his shoulder, causing Harry to jump in his seat. "Merlin, Dante, don't scare me like that!"

Dante huffed lightly, looking to the ceiling as he seated himself regally in his lounger. "You are foolish, Mylläkkä, dropping your guard so often. The longer you have remained here the more lax you have become. It will cause you nothing but trouble."

Harry sighed and pushed a hand through his short hair. "Am I so bad?"

Dante nodded silently.

Harry grimaced. "Yes, well, I'll try and watch out for that. I don't honestly mean to… but my plans have been progressing so slowly that I'm becoming lethargic here. I need a break from pretending I'm someone I'm not if I am going to survive through this year."

"I wonder the same about myself," Dante muttered. "These brats are going to be the end of me, I swear it."

"Why…" Harry paused as he tried to formulate the question, needing to voice his earlier thoughts. "Why do you teach here? I know you hate it."

"Because Lord Valerian asked me to watch over you, Mylläkkä, and there was no way for me to do so without becoming an instructor here."

Harry scowled. "I don't need a babysitter, this is not some crèche, and I don't need you to be here, Dante. You could just as easily have bought or rented a home in Hogsmeade to be near me. I'm sure Valerian doesn't require me to be watched twenty-four hours a day."

"Mylläkkä…" Dante said in a harder tone than his usual monotone. "After all Valerian has done for me in my long life, I would follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked me to. However, I would do it in my own way and with my own comfort. I would not teach if I did not feel the need to be close to you, _Harry_," he enunciated the name slowly. "Whilst my fidelity is with Valerian, I am not in a linear timeline with him. For this journey, I chose to place my loyalty with you. Not for the Boy-Who-Lived, or whatever name they choose for you in the future, or for the heir of Valerian, but for the young man I have trained for the last years."

"But _why_, Dante? Why choose this? I don't… I don't understand."

Dante sniffed and looked away. "My reasons are my own."

Harry wanted to protest but knew better, letting a slightly stiff silence descend on them. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes for several long minutes, feeling the tension draining from his shoulders. It was nice, this relaxation, but it was also painfully boring. Not that Dante was not a good conversationalist… but that was only when he felt like speaking more than a word or two. And after the monologue of a few minutes prior, he knew not to expect another for the night.

"Morgana's tits, I'm going to die of boredom," he murmured.

"Is your Lord Voldemort not yet returned?"

Harry jerked in his seat, not realizing he had spoken aloud, seeing Dante ignoring him behind the same tome he had been reading from earlier. "You won't believe this," Harry said with a growl, "but I _finally _got a letter from that berk… he spent an entire _page_ of letter going on about the bloody scenery and nearly nothing on when he's getting back here except it's taking longer than he thought it would! Can you believe that?! The arse leaves for a month for whatever Merlin-forsaken reason, totally stalling any planning we might be able to do, leaving me to fend for myself here, and he doesn't even write anything bloody useful!"

Dante raised an eyebrow. "I suppose my company is not good enough for you, then?"

"You know that isn't what I meant. But my conversations with Tom are different. We're terribly alike in several ways, and thought he's an awful git a lot of the time, I really enjoy my conversations with him. Stuck with all these idiots day in and day out, it's nice to have an intelligent conversation." He paused ans sent Dante a smirk. "One consisting of more than three words at a time, that is."

"Why not attempt to speak with the Potions master? He seems sharp."

Harry made a face. "Yeah, he's sharp alright. Sharp as a tack and nearly as painful. No thank you. His hatred of me runs too deep for him to consider having a civil conversation with me at this point. Perhaps someday I will be able to convince him that I am not my father, but until then it would be hopeless. Besides…" he shifted a bit, looking away from Dante. He didn't know why he was suddenly uncomfortable. "I like talking to Tom. If the berk would just come back already, there wouldn't be a problem!"

Dante chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing, really…"

"Dante…" Harry growled, narrowing his eyes.

The vampire cocked his head with a smug look. "I find your crush on the 'terrifying' Dark Lord hilarious."

Harry promptly mimicked a fish, jaw falling open and closing several times before he could speak. "Wh-what?! You're insane! I don't have a crush on _Voldemort_!"

"He's all you've talked about in a month. You were practically counting the days until he returned from his mission, and now you're beside yourself over his absence being extended. Your interest in him is too strong to be purely platonic."

"That's barmy! You're insane!" Harry said redundantly, his face flushing a brilliant red. "He's not even good looking for Merlin's sake!"

Dante's smug expression fell into a lightly incredulous one. "There are many things that attract people in a companion, you know."

Harry's irritated blush didn't recede. "Bollocks. Looks always come first, then you figure it out from there. I mean, hell, how else would people end up together if not attraction?"

The look on Dante's face was the most expressive Harry had seen him in several years, somewhere bordering between disbelief and pity. "You truly believe so, Mylläkkä?"

"What else is there?"

Dante looked at a loss, still staring intensely at Harry. "Are you so socially inept that you have never heard of people being together for reasons other than sex? Surely you don't think that how attractive a person is should be the mitigating factor in a real relationship?"

Harry turned away from the hard blue eyes of his friend. "It's all I've known. I wanted Ariana because she was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen, never mind how much of an idiot she was. Valerian wanted me once I grew up and stopped being a scraggly little mutt of a child. What else is there but wanting?"

"And you've never found yourself caring for a person for reasons beyond that?"

"Of course I have! My friends have always meant more than anything else to me, and you and Valerian are closer to me than anyone else. How can you even accuse me of that?"

"I wasn't accusing you of anything. I merely wondered, as you seem to think that the only thing that matters in regards to romantic feelings is the looks of a person."

"It's not that at all…" Harry floundered, shaking his head. "I just… is there really more than that?" he said in a soft voice, still refusing to meet Dante's eyes. "I mean… can there be more to it than just finding someone beautiful? If there is… I've never found it."

"You assume, then, that anyone who's ever been interested in you has merely been so because of your looks? You think Valerian put up with you all these years because you were attractive?"

Harry shook his head slowly. "I hope not. I don't think so… I suppose."

Dante sighed, resuming his uncaring mask. "You are still so young, Mylläkkä. You will learn as time goes on that there are much more important things than beauty."

"I already know that! I just…" Harry waved his hands around. "I can't explain this. I know looks aren't all that matters, and I know they hardly matter at all, really. And in friendship this is true constantly. But can a romantic relationship really work out without sexual attraction? Honestly, Dante."

The blond tipped his head in thought. "I suppose it is necessary… but oftentimes it is a person's heart and mind that _make_ them beautiful to us. It does not always hinge on the obvious qualities. Tell me what you think of when you think of your Voldemort."

Harry snarled quietly. "Don't call him mine, that's disturbing," he said automatically before meeting Dante's eyes. "I don't know how to answer that. I think of someone who I enjoy talking to, who I look forward to seeing. I am continuously surprised by how much I enjoy his company, how much I anticipate the following meeting. He is intelligent and witty, and exudes a tranquility I can't find in anyone else. He frustrates me to no end with his denials of his humanity and his temper can be disturbing when he forgets who he means to take it out on. But he's absolutely brilliant, his mind works in ways I can't even begin to follow! Do you realize how many spells he's created on his own? Dumbledore wasn't kidding when he referred to him as a genius! I could listen to him for ages, I swear…" seeming to realize he was rambling, Harry shut his mouth with an audible click, jaw clenching.

"And does that enlighten you at all?"

Harry sighed heavily. "Merlin help me…"

Dante smirked. "Again, this crush amuses me greatly. I believe I am going to accompany you once he returns; I have a need to see this in person."

* * *

Revised: 3/19/09

* * *


	17. Niggling

Disclaimer: I do not own.

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Niggling // too preoccupied with details_

* * *

Harry walked along the streets of Hogsmeade alone, having lost Ron and Hermione in Zonko's. He had Christmas shopping to do, and he didn't want to be questioned on the things he was buying. Unfortunately, he didn't even know what he was going to buy for anyone. He had already been through five of the smaller shops off the main road and though he had easily found gifts for his Gryffindor housemates, he was having more trouble with his older friends.

Exiting yet another store, he glared at the street. He hadn't had to buy gifts in years, and damn if it wasn't difficult. Dante was the most difficult, he thought, as the man really didn't like anything.

He spied a dark storefront at the next corner, a few Slytherins exiting it. It appeared to be some kind of knickknack shop, the mysterious look to it leading Harry to believe he might find something interesting there. It felt juvenile, but Harry made his way to the door, keeping an eye out for anyone watching him. It didn't look like the most reputable place to be. But before he could enter, echoing cracks of apparition startled him.

He turned on his heel, unable to see the main street at all. But it was obvious what was happening.

The screams had already begun.

Harry's eyes narrowed as the frightened screams resonated off the storefronts, their echoes unheard over the din of the already panicking masses. An attack? Without word to him? He snarled and dashed toward the main street, wondering who had sanctioned this. If this was totally unauthorized Harry was going to enjoy holding the perpetrators under some creative torture curses.

Harry darted into an alley that connected to his destination, swearing under his breath in a mix of English and Parseltongue. This was certainly complicated; he had to look to be assisting and being his Gryffindor self while attempting to figure out what the hell the Death Eaters thought they were doing and surreptitiously sabotaging any attempts at capturing Voldemort's -- his own -- troops. It made it infinitely more complicated that the Death Eaters still didn't know his identity, something he hoped to rectify over his Christmas holiday now that Snape was confirmed as loyal.

Harry broke into the middle of a veritable war zone, firing off Stunners rapidly at the ground near the feet of the black robed attackers while trying to assess the situation. There were a dozen Death Eaters terrorizing the shoppers on the main street, a handful of students and chaperones fighting them off. At least two of the masked assailants were bound in the thick ropes indicative of an _Incarcerous_, which Harry subtly freed them from before moving on. All the while Harry tried to discover why they were acting without permission, half his mind set on dodging badly-fired spells and on predicting his opponents' movements so he would miss with his own.

A hard grip on his hair took him off guard, eyes welling in pain as he was ripped backwards. After little to no attention to his hair as a child, he had found himself to have a tender head as he aged, and any pulling of his hair ticked him off immensely. He snarled, wrenching his head to the side and resisting the urge to bare his fangs. It was a large man he wasn't familiar with, a towering mass of dirty blond hair and roughened skin. He easily stood head and shoulders over even Harry's natural height, so he absolutely towered over Harry's fifteen year old guise.

But as the old adage said: the bigger they are, the harder they fall.

Harry dropped down as far as he could with the grip on his hair, sweeping his foot out and successfully toppling the brute. Harry went down hard with him, his head banging forcefully onto the dirt while curses spilled from his lips. Harry kicked out forcefully in an attempt to escape the grasp, managing to with the loss of a chunk of his hair. He spat a Stunner at the masked man and kicked him in the head to appease his own vindictiveness.

A _Diffindo_ grazed across his shoulder near his neck, resulting in a hiss of pain. He couldn't risk being too injured in this battle; Madame Pomfrey would surely notice his lack of complete humanity if he was injured enough to require a medical scan.

Harry glanced around to be sure no one was nearby before he shot an earth-based spell at the feet of three advancing Death Eaters, knocking them on their backsides without lasting injury. Scanning the battle, he realized that most of the students had retreated now and various Order members and school staff were doing the fighting now. Harry quickly shot several _Finite Incantatem _at those Death Eaters that were bound and a _Rennervate _at the one he had stunned. In the continuous volley of spells between the Light and Dark factions, no one noticed. He knew his anonymity was temporary, though, and crouched in between two stores as he tried to decide what to do next. He couldn't actually take part in the battle, as he had a cover to keep with the Light and did not wish to pick off his own followers, so he settled for freeing the downed Death Eaters nearly as soon as they were taken down.

A loud crack very close at hand startled him, the sudden Apparition behind him taking precious seconds away as Harry was seized by the scruff of his neck. He bit his tongue as he was slammed hard against the alley wall with a spell binding his arms to his sides and sending his wand clattering to the ground. Harry swore and scowled into the meaty face in front of him; he didn't know who it was, but resemblance told him it was the father of either Crabbe or Goyle. He never could keep those two straight. For the millionth time he cursed his weak fifteen year old body, though he knew that physical strength would not help him now. Though he was sure he could shatter the weak spell holding him, the magical flux would call even more attention to him and likely endanger him even more. But he would be damned if he died at the hands of what was technically one of his own minions.

"Well, well, well… if it isn't Harry Potter," the man sneered, lip curling to reveal grayed teeth.

"Well, well, if it isn't a walking flobberworm," Harry said, raising an eyebrow calmly.

The man grunted angrily and raised his wand. "You'll give me endless fame and power, Potter. Master will be so pleased to see you dead…" Harry's eyes widened. He didn't think a follower of Voldemort would really be stupid enough to attempt to kill him. He was, after all, claimed by the Dark Lord himself. Apparently the sons took after their fathers. "_Avad--_"

Harry's saving grace came in the form of a silky drawl, inflectionless and bored. "I don't think you want to do that, Goyle, our lord would be… most displeased."

Harry let out a huffing breath as he took in the masked figure that could only be Lucius Malfoy, platinum hair perfectly placed even after battle, his wand lightly placed against the larger man's temple. "Oh my savior… however shall I repay you?"

Lucius smirked. "We'll just have to see how I can be… repaid."

"Free me from these bindings and we'll talk, Pretty. I'm currently very unhappy."

The blond glared but acquiesced, moving his wand from the elder Goyle's temple to flick Harry free. Harry immediately brought up his wand to the fat Death Eater's unmasked face and stunned him, pocketing it with a look to Lucius.

"So, care to tell me why there is a raid going on without my consent or any warning whatsoever?" he said in a deceptively pleasant voice.

Lucius pulled off his mask and inclined his head slightly. "I apologize for being unable to inform you. The owl sent with the letter from my lord was one of mine and returned with a tracking spell in place. I was able to Confund the spell long enough to make it appear to have gone elsewhere, but the fact that it was tracked meant it was too dangerous to allow another owl to deliver a message to you without time-consuming spells protecting it."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What is this about, then?"

"As you know, I was left in charge while my lord was away." Lucius waited until Harry had waved his hand to tell him to move on. "Last week it was discovered that the failed raid a few days before Halloween was a result of a spy in our ranks, a lower level Death Eater that has been feeding information to the Ministry. He managed to evade capture and we found this morning that he was here in Hogsmeade. There was no way to contact you quickly enough."

Harry nodded, impressed with how professional Lucius was acting. It was a far cry from his defiant attitude of October, and Harry smirked. "So, Pretty, miss me?"

Lucius stiffened and his eyes narrowed, but he didn't snap back as he used to. "That name is repugnant."

Dark eyebrows shot up in surprise. "No insults? No descriptions of the pain you would like to inflict on me? No patented Malfoy Death Glare? No _denial_?"

Lucius looked away with his nose upturned. "I am attempting to be properly deferent."

"And what made you decide I was worth your deference?"

"I saw the images taken of Sybill Trelawney's… presentation."

Harry snickered. "So all it takes to impress you is creative mutilation? Hell, if I'd of thought it was that easy to get your illustrious approval I'd have done it ages ago."

"I was unwilling to believe that you had the qualifications to be my lord's equal. However, I now am willing to give you… a chance."

Harry chuckled and slid up to Lucius, running a finger down the man's chest. "Are you really, Pretty?"

Lucius' face twisted into a grimace. "Please, my lord, that is highly disconcerting while you look like that."

Harry grinned, respecting Lucius' discomfort and stepping back a bit to lean against the alley wall. "I'm sure we haven't much time left, but were you able to catch the traitor?"

"Yes, my lord."

"And everyone is still here because… ?"

"They await my signal. I apologize for those who dared attack you, my lord."

"It is not a problem, Lucius, I haven't told them who I am yet. I think I will have to remedy that over the holiday, though, if I can find a way to get away from here."

Lucius' slate eyes were getting wary now, eyes darting as the sounds of battle began to draw closer to their hiding place. "If you manage to find a way, I was requested by my lord to invite you to stay at Malfoy Manor. He should return by Yule and you will need to be free for the meeting he will call."

Harry pushed a hand through messy, short hair, wracking his brain for not the first time on what he would do to get away. "I'll figure out something, I'm sure."

"I should be going, my lord. It would look badly for one of either side to see us conversing."

Harry waved him off, smirking. "Can't wait to see you again, Pretty."

"Yes, my lord." Lucius studiously avoided his eyes and dipped into a bow much lower than any he had graced Harry with before, quickly straightening and raising his wand.

With a shouted '_Morsmordre'_, cracks of apparition once again echoed through Hogsmeade, signaling the end of the raid.

* * *

Harry gave a show of looking angry and angsty as the announcements were made; fifteen dead. Most were nameless Hogsmeade occupants but one had been an Order member - Elphias Doge - and two students - the seventh year Gryffindor Alicia Spinnet and the sixth year Ravenclaw Mandy Brocklehurst. Harry was, in actuality, very bored as he listened to the students mourn in a loud fashion, ducking his head to hide the wide yawn that cracked his jaw. There were many better things he could be doing, and he had yet to see the point of corralling all the students in the Great Hall like livestock. If an attack _were_ to take place on the castle, wouldn't this just make them easy pickings? The enemy would storm the wide entry doors and block them in, the small side doors would be crammed with students trying to flee and people would be trampled. Really, it was silly.

He hated that he now had nothing to distract himself. He had been very purposefully keeping himself busy since his enlightening conversation with Dante the night before, unwilling to examine the parts of him his friend had pulled out. So, maybe he was sort of bad with understanding emotion.

Scratch that -- he was _really_ bad at it.

It wasn't his fault, though. It wasn't as if he had had any great examples in his life. He'd grown up in a household where he was treated worse than a pet and without half the attention one would get; it wasn't exactly a breeding ground for a compassionate, emphatic soul. His early years in Hogwarts he had invariably been thrust back and forth between loathed future Dark Lord and vaunted Savior of the Wizarding world, and though having Hermione and Ron beside him had begun to help him understand about loving one's friends and going out of your way for them, they didn't help with the romantic world. He had no examples for that at all for years.

Cho Chang had been pretty, so he'd liked her. That was that. He'd known nothing about her, not her hobbies or personality, simply that his stomach did flip-flops when she was around and that thinking of her made for a good wank. This had not particularly been the best beginning to understanding romantic feelings, especially when she had turned out to be surprisingly lacking in a brain for a Ravenclaw and hard up for a personality as well.

When he had gone to Sceaduwe, he had been concentrating too much on training at first to attempt any kind of romantic conquest. It wasn't until just before his seventeenth birthday that he had found himself face to face with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Long cinnamon hair, ample curves, full lips and slanted almond eyes had captivated him, and he had ended up jumping into bed with her the day he'd met her. He didn't exactly regret that, but he realized he had been quite stupid. He had found out quickly after just how vapid she was, but had consoled himself in that a brain wasn't necessary to enjoy sex.

Sadly, though, his Gryffindor morals had set in and disallowed him from a repeat performance.

Then there had been Valerian… witty, intelligent, mischievous, and quite possibly the most intriguing individual Harry had met to date. Over a year in Sceaduwe under the influence of his vampirism and physical training had done wonders for Harry, he had finally filled out in the appropriate places. And then one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen wanted him… him! Prior to the night Valerian had practically accosted him, he had considered himself a perfectly normal straight male. One night had, however, totally changed his mind. He hadn't been aware prior to that just how foreign the soft curves of a woman had felt until he had the firm planes of a man to compare the sensations to.

But he could hardly even fathom his current situation. His mind could not wrap around the mere _idea_ of fancying Voldemort. While denial was a lovely thing, Harry had never been in the habit of lying to himself. He had tried to tell himself it was just friendship, but he knew it was a lie from the moment the thought danced across his brain. He felt differently for Voldemort than he did for his friends, the feelings too intense to be the same.

He couldn't equate the feelings with anything he'd ever felt before. Perhaps it was a byproduct of the years of hatred and near obsession that strung between them, the angry emotions managing to distort to such a degree as to end up egging on the strange fondness between them. Somehow he understood the reptilian man with only a glance, the subtle nuances of his expressions all Harry needed to comprehend. It was unnerving and he mostly tried to ignore the signals he had been noticing for months, the recent absence only compounding it.

It was wrong and frankly made his stomach turn, but he was enamored with Voldemort.

Tom Riddle, someone he had been rather accepting of calling his friend and always excited to spend time with. He did honestly know that looks were not the be-all end-all in a relationship… but could one feasibly be in a relationship with someone whose looks revolted them? He had found as the weeks passed that the man's looks no longer fazed him, but to imagine kissing or touching him in an intimate matter? Harry shivered. He didn't think he could do it. Not at this point. Though he could see himself finding the piercing red gaze erotic and he could think of more than a dozen things a forked tongue could be useful for… at the moment the bald head and flat snake-like non-nose were just too much for him to overcome. Did that make him shallow… or discerning?

Harry shoved his hands into his hair roughly and sighed, unaware of that over half the Great Hall had been watching him as he had toiled. Thankfully, all but a few bought that he was distraught over the deaths. And those who knew better could only wonder.

* * *

It was three days later when Harry finally found himself a bit of time away, meandering aimlessly through the halls. Ron and Ginny were away at Quidditch practice, Neville working with Professor Sprout, and no one else seemed interesting. His feet took his towards the library where he was sure Hermione would be; as usual she had been spending a lot of time there. She had begun her NEWT speech at the start of term, never mind that they had nearly two years until it was relevant, and had already begun stressing herself out over them.

She had been acting strangely in the last month, and there had been a tension about her that he usually attributed with an upcoming test. He had found that when Ron was not around she was a much more suitable conversationalist. Now that he was on a much more even playing field with her he found her fascinating, one of the only students he could stand to talk to for any length of time.

He found her exactly as he expected to find her, hunched over a book with several more piled around her. She was scratching away at a piece of parchment without even looking to see her writing, eyes firmly glued to the dusty tome before her. Harry used every ounce of his abilities to sneak soundlessly up behind her, suddenly feeling mischievous and wanting to give her a jolt. All playfulness died a quick death as he saw the parchment she was writing on, though.

Things Different About Harry

- Quieter (long bouts of inattention and contemplation)

- More serious (studious, less free smiles)

- No more Quidditch?

- Dark, brooding countenance (glares at nothing, deep in thought often)

- Decreased appetite (hardly touches food but to snack)

- Phenomenal strength (threw Malfoy)

- Increased intelligence and marks (actually manages on his own in Potions!)

- Often disappears at night (Neville saw him leave via broom their second night back)

Possible Conclusions

- Abuse (Dursley's worse than we thought? Unlikely due to the lack of anger and skittishness. Would not explain strength etc.)

- Secrets (Prophecy could have explained it, however has since been uncovered and changes have not ceased, would not explain strength etc.)

- Voldemort-related stress (would explain many of the psychological effects but not the intelligence or strength)

- Werewolf (No. Would explain most symptoms but he has been seen during several full moons)

- Vampire (No. Walks in daylight. No word of strange deaths.)

- Dark Elf (No. Unable to be 'turned'. Fitting, if he could be believed to be under a glamour to hide the dark skin, but unlikely due to no Elven blood in the Potter line.)

- Dwarf (No. Unable to be 'turned'. I find myself insulted _for _Harry for even writing it. Not nearly short or child-like enough, would explain little.)

- Veela (No. Wrong coloring for the potency required, would on--

Her quill continued scratching away at the parchment as Harry sighed internally and rubbed a hand over his face. It seemed her suspicions were far-reaching. Had be been so careless? He had known that he had been a bit lax in his security… but this was out of hand. Neville had seen him leave? Hermione had seen him with Malfoy? Brooding so deeply that he didn't notice he was being watched?

He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder but got no entertainment from the way she yelped and spun in her seat, brown eyes wide. "H-Harry!" she said, awkwardly shoving the paper into her bag without losing eye contact. "Did you need something?"

Harry's eyes were sad. "Suspicious of me?"

Hermione cringed, before straightening with a familiar look of determination. "Well, then why don't you tell me?"

"I think not." Harry glanced around and found them utterly alone in that portion of the library, consciously casting out his senses to be sure there was no one hiding. The closest person was far out of a human's hearing range. "I don't expect you to understand. I'm sorry for this, Hermione."

"Sorry for what?" she said with a wary frown while drawing back.

Harry pulled out his Blackthorn wand and pointed it at her forehead, closing his own eyes in pain as he saw hers go wide with betrayal. "_Obliviate_."

* * *

Revised: 3/19/09

* * *


	18. Rancorous

Disclaimer: Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday to Katie… and still no rights to Harry Potter. Damnit. I'm holding out hope, as my birthday isn't REALLY till tomorrow, though. Maybe I'll get them then?

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Rancorous // a bitter, deeply held, and long-lasting ill will or resentment_

* * *

Harry sighed as he slipped out of the library unseen, his hand unconsciously dropping to feel the shrunken bulk of items he had had to confiscate off of Hermione. He ran a shaky hand through his short hair, annoyed at how off balance the encounter had made him. Every time he began wondering how little of his humanity remained, it seemed a situation came up to convince him otherwise. He had thought he had put a reasonable amount of distance between himself and his prior friends, but it seemed he had not done as good of a job as he'd thought.

It had physically hurt him to stare into her blank eyes and tell her that she had, in fact, been researching Vampires in order to have concrete proof backing her statements as she argued with Ron about Dante. That she was not suspicious of him. That she only hoped for his wellbeing and had not, in fact, seen anything to lead her believe him to be anything more than an angsty and brooding teenaged _human_ male. He hated washing away the faint hope that had arisen in his heart as he'd read the analytical slant of her words, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he had been wrong. Hoping that maybe he wasn't going to lose all vestiges of his old life when the truth came out, that Hermione was bookish enough to not let her emotions cloud her judgment.

But he knew that was not the case. Hope was for children and fools, and he fancied himself to be neither.

He had found an entire notebook filled with her neat handwriting, all listing truths about Vampires that she had found in various unbiased books. He was impressed with how much she had been able to find. It hadn't been hard to place a sleeping hex over her and replace the damning paper about him with the notebook after checking it over for anything pertaining for him. He wasn't going to allow himself to slip up anymore. He had done it enough. He would have to be more careful if he was going to make it though the school year.

He had also done a search of her book bag, taking out all texts that would have been irrelevant to her supposed task. Within it he had found a boon, something that very nearly made having to Obliviate the only woman he looked to as family worth it. He was sure it was from the Restricted section, and likely the only copy in existence; it was handwritten and tenuously bound, an unassuming cover leaving him in shock as he'd flipped through it.

Innocuously titled 'Joint Magicks', he had discovered it to be a book about spells that required both a wizard and a participant of a different species, usually Vampire or Werewolf, though Harry had spied spells for use in combination with Dwarfs, House Elves, and Sirens. He had decided to 'borrow' it for further perusal when an entry had caught his eye.

An entry detailing the combination of a wizard's magic with a vampire's, combined with a complicated potion which would create a fully functional Blood Clone.

Harry pushed away all melancholy thoughts and let a wicked grin curve his lips. He had a Potions master to speak with and a Rite to prepare for. He would have free reign over the hols even if it meant suffering Severus Snape.

Harry strode through the dungeons as if he owned them, uncaring if any sneaky Slytherins would witness his passing. He didn't think he would be keeping the truth from many of them much longer, and they wouldn't dare take their complaints to Dumbledore. They would stew with their grievances until the truth came to light.

Harry paused to rap on the door to Professor Snape's classroom, not uncouth enough to barge in unannounced. No matter his distaste for the man, he did respect him and knew he would be a valuable ally if Harry could force him to get over his childish grudges.

"Enter," the drawl came in the familiar deep timber. Harry had found over the years that the annoying voice in the back of the head that alerted him when he screwed up had taken on that same deep drawl; it had been a source of the utmost annoyance for him for years. It usually went unnoticed now, though.

He opened the door and slid into the room, clicking the door shut behind him and ignoring the steadily deepening scowl that was on the sallow man's face. "Hullo Severus, I need you to do a task for me."

The scowl transformed into a snarl, but Harry could see the man reigning in his initial instinct to lash out verbally. Like Lucius, it seemed that though it may take a while, respect and subsequent deference were on their way. "And just what, Potter, do you need of me?"

Harry perched on the edge of what was normally Malfoy's desk. "I need a potion brewed and have little time to work out the specifics to brew it on my own. It is within my skill level, but I would prefer to know your skills were behind it."

Black eyes showed surprise briefly before they went flat once more. "If it is within your own unexceptional proficiency level, then it is likely not worth my own time at all," he sneered.

Harry narrowed his eyes and saw the man flinch back slightly, obviously having known better than to make the comment. It seemed he had made an impact on Snape, though the man's personality was hard to be quelled, especially in the face of James Potter's son. "Perhaps you missed the memorandum, Severus, but I am not the same sniveling, brooding little boy you tossed out on his backside at the end of term. In case my appearance change has not been hint enough, I was in training for a decade before returning for the school year. If not for your own incompetence at teaching, I would have been a fine student, though admittedly never top of the class."

"What gives you the right to demean my teaching skills, you ungrateful little brat?" Snape growled out, knuckles white where they clenched the desk's edge.

"Have you ever heard of Dougal Fraiser?" he asked with a sly smirk, watching the faint color leave the Potions master's face. "You have, I see. It took six months under his tutelage to correct the damage you did on me over the years, and once I was able to hold a blade correctly and actually identify ingredients, I was able to work on my own at a passable level. I will never love it as you do, nor will I ever hold the patience for any long-term brews… but I know what I am doing around a cauldron, Severus, and I would thank you to stop questioning my intelligence. It is not your place," he finished with a growl of his own, flipping his Blackthorn wand from his sleeve and leveling it at the man threateningly. It was an empty threat, they both knew; the wards would not allow him the creativity he would like, but the implication and reminder was there.

Severus swallowed with a pinched expression and tipped his head in a stunted show of submission. "What do you need of me, then, my lord?"

Harry ignored the man's attitude as his love of obscurities surfaced, a smile working its way over his face. "I found a spell to perfectly suit my needs for the holidays. However, it is Cooperative magic and I require a Harmonizing potion to synch up the varying magical signatures. It's relatively uncomplicated but for the careful stirring required."

Harry pulled the book from his pocket and tapped it with his wand, expanding it and flipping through the pages quickly, plopping it down onto the desk and grinning at the astonished looking Potions master. He watched Snape run a long finger down the ingredients list. "What is the purpose of this potion? The jobberknoll feathers associate the potion with memory, the moonstone with emotional balance, and the runespoor eggs with increased mental acumen, but the properties of the asphodel and knotgrass would not be complete enough to serve to create a golem."

Harry nodded fervently. "That is why it is Cooperative magic, it isn't a golem at all. Golems need to be directed and instructed, this allows you to create life!"

He pointed to the opposite page of the potions instructions and lifted himself on the corner of the high desk. "See? It's a minor ritual in a triangular formation, and with Dante and I working as the anchors I just need you to brew and apply the potion at the correct point. It's fascinating. It works by converting both the wizard and vampire magic into a neutral, original magic without roots in any species. Because creating a veritable life form without birthing is impossible to all species, we are creating an alternate life form that will be, in theory, an exact replication of me. The potion is needed to cement a sense of self into the clone and allow it to move without constant direction. The magic creates the body and it can be mentally and physically linked to me to make it have my personality, goals, and memories and look exactly like my fifteen year old form…"

Black eyes were slightly unfocused. "Why isn't this more well known? The mere idea of this is fascinating. Think of what I could do with this: having an assistant that isn't a complete dunderhead to contribute to my experimentation…"

Harry chuckled at the dreamy gaze. "Unfortunately, the clone won't work properly in close proximity to its maker, nor will it function under duress. That nullifies any uses I have come up with in assistance and battle. A person also cannot be linked to more than one at a time, limiting the clones singularly. It is helpful for establishing an alibi, or as in my case, appearing to be where I am not. It is very unknown because it requires a human and a vampire of at least moderate strength to work together, and with prejudices the way they are that is unlikely."

Severus scowled again, though this time it was directed at the wall rather than Harry, surprisingly. "Damn."

Harry chuckled again and nodded. "I know. I spent all last night thinking of what I could use it for… I was rather annoyed to have gotten my hopes up. I will look more into this subject, though, surely."

Severus nodded and scanned the potion list again. "When do you need this done by?"

"At least a day or two prior to the Yule hols. I don't want to create it too soon; I haven't found a stasis spell yet."

Severus again nodded to Harry vacantly, and Harry was surprised to find himself comfortable in the man's company. It wasn't often that the man wasn't imparting his irascible wit onto him, and he found that without the scathing sarcasm the man could be tolerable company. He wouldn't call it pleasant, really, but it was a far cry from their usual interactions.

"I'm only worried about one aspect," Harry said seriously after a few minutes' silence. He hated to bring up this particular subject, as it would surely bring back the Snape he reviled, but he respected the man's intelligence and needed his opinion. "The one thing that will not be carried over to the clone will be my vampirism. As such, its mind will be wide open. I worry about Dumbledore coming across it in that state. I considered extracting the memories of the last ten years, but it would leave months of unknown gaps in its mind and would leave it disoriented. It would cause me to be found out too easily."

"Are you telling me," Severus said in a dark drawl, "that you are so incompetent as to have been unable to master Occlumency after a _decade_ of training? What kind of a brainless imbecile are you?"

"Watch your tone, Severus," Harry hissed. "For your information, I am unable to learn Occlumency. The _Avada Kedavra_ made my mind unable to form defensive shields. Had you not been blinded by your own childish presuppositions you might have noticed that in our lessons. Thankfully, being a vampire has many advantages, only one of them being able to deflect human Legilimency."

Severus's face contorted into an angry grimace. "There is no way your mind _cannot_ make shields. It is a basic ability available to all wizards at birth!"

"And there is no way I could have survived a Killing Curse to the head either. Yet I stand here. I'm sure you've noticed that precedent has never stopped me thus far."

"How could I not notice? The very laws of nature bend backwards to accommodate you."

Harry scoffed. "And there I was for years wishing I could just be invisible. But now…" Harry let a wicked smirk cross his face. "Now I see the benefits of being under the world's scrutiny. I will make sure my messages are heard. Someday I still hope to fade into obscurity, but I know now that short of holing myself away in the Immortal realm, that isn't going to happen."

Severus scowled downward irritably as Harry pushed himself off the high desk and gave a mocking bow. "I will take my problem to Dante, since you seem unable to hold a civil, intelligent conversation. I fear, Severus, that you and I are going to bump heads for many years to come -- assuming you survive that long, of course -- but you would make it far easier on yourself to see that I am absolutely nothing like my father. I really can't tell you, though, since the most I've ever seen of him was the scene in _your_ pensieve. You would be doing yourself a favor to try and look beyond your own muddled sight. Pretend for a single day that you never met my father and see what you think after that. Because if you don't begin to treat me with the respect I command as your lord… I don't guarantee your survival long enough to get out of this school year, let alone this war. While I am content to make you scream a bit, my dear Tom seems to take offense to people insulting me."

He turned at the door and saw the ashen complexion of the man, grinning and giving a jaunty wave. "I want the list of students I should speak with the day I return, Severus. Ta-ta."

Harry left Severus staring at the cracked stone of the dungeon wall in a seething fury… but underneath it all, he wondered if the boy might be at least partially right.

* * *

Harry was packed and ready to leave -- all the clothing and supplies he would need for the two weeks away from Hogwarts shrunken in a small trunk in his pocket. Now he only needed to retrieve the Blood Clone from Dante's rooms and set off under his invisibility cloak for the train. He halfway wanted to Apparate, but he had decided it would be easiest just to take the Hogwarts Express and meet up with Lucius that way.

Harry paid little attention to his surroundings, being nearly alone in the corridors while everyone ran around getting ready for their holidays. He was one of a handful of students staying over (so the castle believed, that is) and so it wasn't anything special to see him wandering the halls. After all, if he was really a sixteen year old staying behind for Christmas without his friends, it would only rub salt into the wounds to watch everyone else happily preparing to depart.

When the shoulder of an equally distracted person caught onto his, he turned to snarl out a rebuke when he was caught by wide silver eyes. He raised an eyebrow as the blond quickly bent at the waist and refused to meet his eyes again. "My lord, I apologize for not watching where I was going!"

Harry snorted, amused that Draco had managed to figure it out. "Don't worry about it, Malfoy… and don't bow to me in school. Wouldn't want anyone else to figure it out, after all."

Still the blond would not meet his eyes, though he did straighten. "I apologize for my behavior this year, my lord. Had I known you had possessed Potter…"

He raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Excuse me, Malfoy?"

"Potter… you've possessed him, haven't you my lord?"

Harry let out a short bark of laughter, smirking as the blond twitched slightly in an aborted attempt to cringe away. "Now Malfoy, my memories of you aren't exactly clear… but I could have sworn that you were exceedingly intelligent."

Draco's face turned pink at the insult. "I-I don't understand…"

"I am Harry Potter. Voldemort," the boy flinched, "in no way has possession of my mind or body." Harry paused and smirked. "No matter how much Tom might wish it."

Draco clenched his fists and growled. "Potter… then what in the bloody hell is wrong with you? You aren't the same Potter as before, you're Dark and strong and…" the younger seemed to realize he was inadvertently complimenting Harry and stopped, face screwing up. "What the hell are you?"

Harry smirked and advanced on the boy, stopping only inches away. "Don't worry your… _pretty_ little head over it, Draco."

The word seemed to trigger something in Malfoy, as he paled slightly. "You've got to be kidding me."

A wicked grin spread over his lips. "I can't wait to see your home, Little Pretty. I especially miss your father…"

Harry winked and left the slowly reddening, furious blond behind him as he walked with a new skip in his step to Dante's rooms.

* * *

Harry groaned and stretched from his position on the floor of the train's cabin, pushing his neck from side to side to crack it. He had lost track of time, having finally had the time to pull out the materials for the only hobby he'd picked up in the last decade and deciding to put his talent to work on Christmas gifts for his Dante and Voldemort. He snickered at the idea that he was actually had to consider what to get Voldemort for Christmas. How things changed.

He had managed to use his talents to create a gift that each would find acceptable, but he was still at a loss for Lucius. Since the blond was his subordinate and beyond their mini trysts they were far from close, Harry hadn't thought he would be giving Lucius anything. However, now that he had been invited to stay in the man's home, it was only right that he give something to him. He hoped to figure it out while he was there. If Valerian had taught him anything over the years, manners and proper decorum were the biggest.

Putting away his things and carefully packing away the gifts before shrinking and pocketing his trunk, Harry stood and stretched his back out and swished his invisibility cloak back over his shoulders. He had used the Reversion potion almost as soon as he had warded the door, and had to crouch slightly to stay under the cover of his cloak.

The train began grinding to a halt, finally having reached King's Cross. It was an exhausting and time-consuming ride, and he now wished he had just Apparated. However, he hadn't wanted to lose track of time. Since he had never been to Malfoy Manor he needed to enter with Lucius the first time. He sighed and cast a quick Reflection spell to check that he was fully concealed before removing the wards and obscuring charms he had placed on the door.

He watched impassively as the train emptied of its passengers, waiting until it was nearly empty before he skirted his way through the crowds. He frowned as he watched Ron, Ginny, and Hermione run of to the rest of the Weasley party and leave with loud voices. He wasn't bitter, honestly… but he knew that had this been ten years ago and had this moment been happening to his sixteen year old self, it would have nearly broken his heart.

He sighed and slipped through the barrier column into the crowded muggle station, immediately picking out Lucius in a rather unnoticeable alcove behind a column. He smirked and started towards him before another blond drew his attention, the younger Malfoy walking furiously and purposefully towards the elder. "Father!"

Lucius turned slightly, raising a pale eyebrow at his son's loud voice. "Yes, Draco?"

Harry was nearly there now, not even needing sensitive hearing to pick out the words.

"Are you insane?! You invited that… that…"

"What are you going on about, Draco?"

The boy was furious, Harry could tell, and he stopped a foot away just to watch in amusement as Draco nearly shook in fury.

"Do you know who he is, Father?! This _lord_ of yours that you… oh Merlin you let him… and you _liked it_… he's bloody Ha--"

"Pretty, do shut up your progeny before I _shut him up_," Harry purred from beside Lucius, still under his cloak but with a hand on the man's arm.

"Be silent, Draco," Lucius said to the fuming boy without even a flinch. "We will discuss this later. My lord? Are you ready to go?"

Harry pushed back his cloak enough to expose his eyes to the two blonds, "Hmm… I suppose so. I should really get some… sustenance before leaving, but I'm sure you won't be adverse to being my donor tonight, would you Pretty?"

He felt Lucius shiver against him. "Of course, my lord."

"Splendid," Harry said with a hiss, focusing his eyes on the silent but obviously livid Draco. "Shall we go, then?"

Lucius pulled out a piece of parchment and waited until Harry's hand was grasping the paper over his own hand before saying the activating word and letting the three of them swirl out of existence.

* * *

Revised: 3/19/09


	19. Evanescent

Disclaimer: -is sad- No, for my birthday I did not get the rights to Harry Potter. Jo considered it, but in the end she's just not a slash fan. ;) Sad for us! SAD!

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

**WARNING: **I know I said I was done… but… a bit of HarryLucius sexual tension (-cough-minorsmut-cough-) in this chapter. Really done now. I just can't seem to keep them away from each other…

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Evanescent // fleeting; disappearing after only a short time_

* * *

The second the dizzying feeling of the portkey ended, Draco's furious face was turned to the tiny floating section of Harry's face that was visible, "_You_…"

Harry pulled off his cloak indifferently, drawing his Blackthorn wand from his sleeve and rolling it between his fingertips, eyes set on the incensed younger Malfoy. "Yes, Little Pretty?" Harry flicked a long tendril of hair from his face, tilting his head. "Your face is rather pink. It's truly not your color."

The blond's color rose yet higher and Harry could see him struggling to maintain his Slytherin mask. Lucius sighed inaudibly from his side and turned slightly to face Harry. "My lord, if I may? I think my son needs time to reconcile with the knowledge of your identity."

"No, Lucius, I think you're wrong," said Harry, his eyes flicking back to silver. "I think he needs to understand. It's bad enough I have to deal with Severus on a daily basis and the ginormous stick up his arse, I don't want to have to contend with your brat tripping me up every other step. He could end up an asset or a hindrance. I would like to try for asset, if you don't mind."

The angry tinge to Draco's cheeks seemed to lessen as Harry spoke, the slightest confused furrow of his brow marring his face. Harry took this as a good sign.

Lucius pursed his lips but bowed, locking eyes with Harry. "As you wish. But please…" Lucius couldn't seem to let his sentence continue, the mere word 'please' having strained him. Harry smiled softly, becoming oddly endeared to the toff man.

He flicked his wand back into his sleeve. "I only want to speak to him, Pretty. No worries." He looked back to sliver eyes. "Walk with me, Little Pretty?"

A scowl. "You could at least call me by my given name," Draco said in a tight voice, and Harry found it amusing that his childhood rival actually had the capacity to compromise.

"Fine, Draco. Show me the grounds?"

The left the Entry Hall to Lucius mumbling about why Harry hadn't listened to _him_ when _he'd_ asked to be called by his name, Harry chuckling and following the younger of the two blonds. He smiled serenely as Draco pointed out the Pegasus stables and the non-regulation Quidditch Pitch. He snorted as he noticed at least a dozen white peacocks roaming the grounds, wondering whose touch _that_ had been. It was feminine enough to have been Narcissa, but it was amusing to think it could have been Lucius. He thought it redundant and pretentious to place animals associated with wealth in such an obviously rich atmosphere, but no one ever said the Malfoys were simple.

Harry was amused by the haughty tone that was slowly returning to Draco's voice as he spoke, not even noticing that Harry hadn't been paying attention. "And this," he said with a regal wave of his hand, "is the Manor Garden. Only the most rare and beautiful plants have been included, imported from all over the planet. You will find no better private garden anywhere." Draco sniffed. "Obviously. Malfoys never settle for less than the best."

Harry let out a soft laugh. "Oh, obviously."

Draco jumped and lightened a few shades, obviously having forgotten whom he was leading. "Yes, well…"

Harry brushed past the teen with a smirk, walking with a sway to his hips into the grandiose garden, eying the ornate fountain in the center. He walked slowly, wary of anything that might jump out at him in a magical garden, eyes lazily darting from side to side. He spotted a rather eye-catching purple bloom and stopped, looking down to it before dropping to his knees and pulling a creeping weed from where it was tangling around the base of the stem. He set it aside after assuring himself it wasn't anything animated, smoothing over the soil where he had disrupted it.

"What are you doing, Potter?" Malfoy suddenly asked, and Harry didn't have to see the other boy's face to know he was sneering. "From Dark Lord to House Elf?"

Harry laughed quietly, flicking a glance over his shoulder as he moved to pull another weed. "House Elf, am I?" he chuckled again in a calm way. "Tell me, Draco, did your parents hug you when you were a child?"

The voice was hesitant and confused. "Of course they did."

"Did your mother tuck you in at night? Your father teach you to ride a broom?"

The sneer was back in full force. "Is this going to be some orphan spiel, Potter? Pathetic."

Harry laughed again and sat back on his heels, brushing the dirt from his hands and leaning back onto them in the soft, magically-maintained grass. "I think not. I was just wondering. Your parents seem so cold, but as I've gotten to know your father I've noticed how different he can be. He loves you very much."

Draco scowled at the ground across from Harry, but seemed to sacrifice his pride as he dropped gracefully to the grass. "I think you've taken getting to know him _far_ too far, Potter."

Harry smiled serenely. "Ah, perhaps."

"You're far too amused by the knowledge that you've molested my father."

"Perhaps again." Harry's smile widened mischievously. "Just feel lucky I seem to be attracted to the older aristocratic types… if you were a decade or so older I'd probably hit on you as well."

Draco made a face but couldn't stop his face from turning pink. "Prat."

Harry watched the dark clouds crowding the sky and wondered if they would finally get the first snow of the season. The air was sharper than it had been the last few weeks, a nip in the wind that hadn't been there previously even in up in Scotland. It would be strange to see snow in Wiltshire this early in the winter, but he knew not to rule out the possibility. Rain, at least, was a surety. (1)

Harry tilted his head back to stare at the grey-covered sky, twitching uncomfortably as he felt his long hair pool on the ground. He had forgotten how annoying his excessively long hair was, but after having spent long months of not having it, he found a new appreciation for it. No matter how many times he had complained to Valerian about its length, it was a comfort to have it back. Harry pulled out his wand, ignoring Draco's flinch, and released the spell he reflexively applied whenever he Reverted. The spell that kept his long brownblack hair framing his face dissipated and let the tapered bangs hair fall back from his forehead, leaving his famous scar visible. It was faded after years without visions or agitation, but it remained ever etched there.

He felt Draco's eyes on him and tilted his head back forward, green meeting silver. "Yes?"

"How have you changed this much?" Draco asked in a blasé tone, though the curiosity was obvious in his eyes. "You get my father arrested as a scrawny twat, and you come back after summer some…" Draco's face pinked again and he waved his hand. "Like this! And suddenly allying with the Dark Lord! It makes no sense!"

Harry smirked and went back to watching the crawling grey clouds. "Not everyone has had the life you have, Draco."

"Don't start wittering on with the orphan thing again."

"Oh, stuff it." Harry sighed. "I didn't _witter_ then and I'm not going to now."

"Do go on, then."

Harry rolled his eyes, "I'm not going to throw a pity party over my shitty life; I don't want to say it and you don't want to hear it. But I will tell you that Voldemort," Draco flinched, "and I grew up in the same way. Upon entering the Wizarding world I was suddenly vaunted as a hero and told my parents died to save my life. Until then, I had been told they had died while driving drunk. Think of Apparating drunk and it is about the same amount of taboo. Suddenly I was loaded with the expectations of an entire culture on my shoulders. I was eleven years old. Of course I wanted to be brave like my parents, of course I didn't want to be like the man who had killed them or the boy who acted just like my spoilt bully of a cousin."

"You were also an idiot," Draco said with an obvious pout that Harry easily ignored.

"In any case, after my godfather was killed, I was given an out of that life… the life where I was treated like absolute crap half the time and even worse when opinions were good. So I went away. Except," Harry paused and thought of how to word it, "there was something that made me come back. It wasn't even the prophecy, but the expectations on me were huge, and Dumbledore was too dangerous to leave unfettered. He would ruin the Wizarding world if left to his own devices, or else the war would destroy it for him. So I came back… time travel, if you must know, Vampire magic… to end it. I just might not be ending it the way they all wanted me to."

"By joining with the man who killed your parents?" There was no mockery in the tone, and that was the only reason Harry answered.

"That wasn't my first option, but it ended up the best. And I'm glad I did, honestly. I think we can make this world great."

"The Wizarding world is already great," the blond sneered, lip curled.

"You're lucky you aren't a Death Eater, Draco, or I would have cursed you for that," Harry said in an amused voice, watching from the corner of his eye as an color Malfoy had drained. "But since you are not, I will warn you. Don't talk down to me."

"Y-yes, of course."

"Anyway, I believe we can make this world great, improve upon what exists and take away the fears of the people. Restrictions on muggleborns to increase security, mixing of different magical blood to enrich the lines… we won't be exposed and we can flourish. Voldemort and I working together could well end up the best thing to ever happen to the magical world."

Draco was frowning but nodded slightly. "Why tell me all this? You hate me and I can't say I'm all that fond of you either. What is the point?"

"I don't hate you, Little Pretty." He ignored the glare. "Honestly, I hardly remember much of our encounters. So, while I do not hate you, I think very little of you. I am giving you the chance to change that." He cut off the blond before he could insert the sarcastic retort that was sure to follow such a proclamation. "Think twice before you answer, Draco. I am now the partner to the Dark Lord. Your aspirations include being a Death Eater, yes? What better way to be sure you receive the rank I am sure you believe you deserve?"

"What would you have me do?" the blond asked, an uncaring mask over his face.

"Do? Help me take Hogwarts. I need people to help me with that. Call a truce with Harry Potter on the outside and begin showing me people you trust who have our goals. I need a force to leave behind after I take down Dumbledore, people intelligent enough to make sure the truth is known. My plans for Dumbledore are solo, but I may need diversions in the meantime. It isn't anything more than a more proactive version of what you're already doing. Can you handle this?"

Draco paused for many long minutes, staring at the same point in the sky that Harry had studied minutes prior. Harry remained silent, knowing the blond's intelligence ranked with Hermione's and with his ideals he would surely agree. Survival of the fittest, after all, was high up on a Slytherin's creed. And if he could help himself be the fittest? Well, all the better.

"Fine, Potter," Draco said with a curt nod. "But don't expect me bowing to you!"

"Not in school, Malfoy, but you need to remember that I am _not_ your equal. If you accept this, out of public you will show subservience."

Draco grimaced and grumbled under his breath, obviously unhappy with what he was about to do. He visibly cringed as he held out his hand.

Harry smiled genuinely, wrapping his hand around long fingers. "Deal, then."

* * *

Harry swirled the brandy slowly, eyes tracking the ice cubes as they ran around the glass. He and Draco had arrived back in the Manor an hour before and the younger had retired immediately claiming exhaustion, leaving a silent Lucius in the study with his guest. Harry had watched the man for long minutes before turning his gaze on his perpetually-filled glass. Lucius was working on something for the Ministry and couldn't be bothered. Harry didn't mind. The silence was soothing in a way that the boredom at Hogwarts had never been. Here, he had a purpose. He was merely relaxing in the meantime, taking in the sights and sounds of a normal existence.

Harry took another slow sip, letting the drink burn down his throat and warm his stomach. While snow had yet to fall, it was raining heavily and a chill had descended on the Manor. Roaring fires in every fireplace couldn't seem to effect the huge mansion, and though Harry knew a warming charm would be the wizard's solution, he found mild discomfort like cold reminded him of his mortality. It was something every important figure had to keep a grasp on.

A sigh from Lucius drew his attention back up to the man, papers spread before him and long white-blond hair fanned over his shoulders. Every few minutes he would agitatedly push stray hair out of his face or absently blow at a lock that obscured his vision, mind focused on the papers he was perusing. Harry found it terribly amusing.

Patrician features were illuminated in the ambient light, lower lip moving in a way that suggested that Lucius chewed on the inside of it. Harry wondered if he had, as a child, chewed on the lip itself until it had been trained otherwise. Harry smiled as he saw the smallest flash of white teeth that confirmed his first assumption.

"Something amusing, my lord?" Lucius asked, not looking away from the official document.

"No, nothing, Pretty."

Lucius's eyes twitched in an aborted roll, but no comment was made. "Would you like me to summon a House Elf to take you to your rooms?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm amusing myself just fine."

Lucius finally glanced in his direction. "If you are sure, my lord."

Harry's let a small smirk cross his lips that was nearly too fond to be called so. "No need to worry about me, Pretty. I'm used to this by now. Between Tom and Valerian, I've spent entire days of the last year in this position. I have learned to amuse myself."

Lucius let out a hum and went back to his paper, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear.

After a few minutes of silence, Harry stood slowly, a smirk on his lips. He ignored the tensing of the blond's shoulders and slowly carded his fingers through platinum hair, letting his short nails rake against the man's scalp a few times. Harry pulled the strip of leather from where Lucius had discarded it and slowly tied the hair back from the man's face, leaning forward once he had pulled the band tight. "So, Pretty," Harry said, his breath ghosting over the skin of Lucius' neck. "Just where is your… wife?"

The man's eyes stopped darting across the paper but he didn't look up. "Finishing her Yule shopping in Spain. She should be back tomorrow evening or the morning after."

Harry gave a breathy chuckle. "I can't say I'm disappointed that she isn't here, Pretty. I was afraid you and I would get no time to ourselves." Fingers trailed across Lucius's shoulders as Harry leaned forward. "You see… I tend to be rather possessive with my favorite things."

A noise of denial attempted to worm its way out of Lucius' throat, but Harry merely smiled. "No, I do not mean to call you a thing, Pretty… however, you are certainly of my favorites…"

A low exhalation of air was Harry's response, and Harry let his nose press behind the blond's ear and his tongue flick out to taste the hollow there. "M-my lord… perhaps this isn't…"

"Call me Harry, Pretty," he murmured trailing the tongue down and taking a hold of the man's earlobe.

Another exhalation and a grunt of denial. "T-This is not a good…" a moan cut the man off, color flushing his cheeks. Whether he was embarrassed or it was merely in pleasure, Harry didn't know.

Harry lazily trailed a fang down the pulsing jugular, eyes drooping in a sultry cast. He pulled back slowly and blew against Lucius' neck, watching the fine hairs stand on end, "But I must argue, Pretty. This is _very_ good…"

With a muffled groan, Lucius let his head loll back until gray eyes fixing hazily on green.

Harry smiled slightly and leaned over, nibbling leisurely at the pale lower lip and tugging it between his teeth. Another small sound escaped Lucius' mouth that sent a chill down Harry's spine, his fingers digging into the man's shoulder as a slow fire built within him. Not pausing in the slow attentions of his tongue, Harry let his hands roam up the exposed neck to cradle the man's face, inverted though the case may be, dexterous fingers stroking the slanted jaw. He broke apart from Lucius after the slow kiss, smirking down at the man. "Very… very good…"

Lucius' throat worked for several moments before he managed to get a word out, his voice rough as Harry moved to trace lines across the man's throat with his tongue and fangs. "This… I should _not_ be doing this!"

Harry let out a sigh against the man's skin and pulled back to look into gray eyes, breath coming out in sort pants. "Why ever not, Lucius?" he asked with a hiss, drawing out the man's name and relishing in the way gray eyes fluttered.

"I am not a toy," Lucius said in a slow, measured voice, obviously trying to force composure through the vapor of lust surrounding him. "And will not be treated as such… not even by my lord. I will carry out any order… but I will not be made to crumble whenever your whims demand it."

Harry stared for long minutes into Lucius' eyes, startled when he didn't feel amused or angry over the defiance. He felt… proud. Proud that the man had gone from defying him, to respecting him enough to follow him, to finally able to set his own principles down to him. It told Harry that Lucius was growing as a person and that he, himself, was managing his goals well. He wanted to change many things, one of them being how the Death Eaters worked. Fear alone was not enough to rally true support and loyalty.

He smiled, startling the waiting Lucius, and leaned forward, brushing his lips against the older man's. He took the step needed to take him to the man's lap and stood over him, his stomach brushing the blond's chest, "You are right of course. But please," his voice was hoarse as need rose in him once more, "Merlin, please let me taste you one more time."

Lucius groaned and pushed himself up into a dizzying kiss, and Harry let himself be lost in the sensations. The kiss was short but fierce, permission granted as Harry lowered himself into the man's lap and pressed himself hip to chest with him. Teeth nipped and tugged, tongues conflicted, heart rates soared. Harry could never figure out what it was about Lucius. Though the man was improving, he was still in essence an annoying and lordly prat who believed his shite smelt of roses. Though exceptionally attractive, there were others out there as attractive as he was, so it couldn't be merely that. But there seemed to be a… magnetism between them, something that made it nearly impossible to resist leaping on the man every time they were alone.

With a low moan Harry trailed his mouth to the tempting neck and paused, trying to calm his breathing. Perhaps it was this. Perhaps it had been so long since he had had a live and willing donor that his hormones couldn't resist taking advantage. Feeding was a very sensual thing, even in its most violent aspects. You were taking a bit of your victim into yourself, essentially merging for a short time together with them. Taken by force it inflamed power, given freely it invoked passion.

He sank his fangs slowly into the soft skin at the pulse point. Lucius's groan seemed loud in the quiet room, disrupting the sound of the rain falling outside. Harry's eyes rolled back as he drank, his fingers gripping forcefully on the blond's shoulders. The blood made the dizzying feeling from before paltry in comparison, a wave of desire and ecstasy washing over him in a wave. He listened to the man's heartbeat and pushed harder against him as arms wrapped around his waist.

All too soon he heard the telltale slowing and had to pull away, the small pinpricks sealing quickly as he stayed, breathing heavily, leaned against the man's neck. The arms that held him were still tensed but shaking, and Harry knew he should help Lucius to bed before he passed out.

Harry licked his lips and pulled back, half lidded eyes meeting gray before he pressed his lips fleetingly to the other, pulling away and offering his arm. Barely holding onto consciousness, Lucius took it and rose and let Harry lead him to bed.

* * *

The next day in Malfoy Manor passed swiftly and surprisingly pleasantly. His truce with Draco was holding well enough; the boy was conceited and a snot, but he was also surprisingly witty and intelligent. Lucius was rather set in his ways, but Harry thought he had a chance to make something of Draco. In fact, when the young blond managed to forget Harry's real identity for minutes at a time, he was nearly enjoyable company.

They had spent a while flying and discussing Quidditch tactics (this conversation had not lasted long, though, as Draco had managed to remember nearly instantly who he was and challenge him to a Seeker's Game), then Harry had spent the afternoon in the library looking through the rare and one-of-a-kind tomes the Malfoys held. Lucius had joined him for a while towards evening once he had returned from the Ministry, and Harry had lost himself in debate over the advantages of using spells that ran the risk of mental damage to the so-called 'safe' ones.

Dinner had been amusing, Draco having forgotten his identity through almost the entire meal and had bandied back and forth with Harry comfortably. Upon remembering his conversation partner was, in fact, Harry Potter, Draco had excused himself quickly, though his curses had carried down the stone passageway. This had made Harry's night.

After drinks with Lucius he had retired early, rising even earlier and setting to making the gift he had decided on for his host. It was the twenty-first now, and he found himself more and more often wondering how long Voldemort would take in being out. Harry wished he had been able to be around more in the last months; he couldn't manage the Death Eaters without Voldemort. He was hardly known at this point and they would not follow him even with his status. That would have to wait until after Hogwarts had fallen, because he just did not have the time to divide between the separate conquests.

It was well after dawn by the time he came out of the trance-like state he had fallen into, and Harry stretched out before going through his morning ritual. A shower, tooth brushing, and change of clothes later, and he was setting out for the dining room. He wasn't sure if Lucius would be awake this early since it was a Saturday, but the man was generally a creature of habit and didn't seem the type to sleep in. Harry let out a yawn as he navigated the twisting hallways of the manor, nodding politely to various portraits on the walls. As he walked he ran his fingers through his hair and drew it back into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck, his normal style for it when not doing business or aiming to impress. It was less cumbersome that way.

He was surprised when he entered the dining room to find the entirety of the Malfoy family seated around the table, currently only long enough for the four of them but able to be expanded at a word. He was not noticed immediately and took a moment to look at the group. Draco had a small smile on his lips as his mother raved about something she had seen in Spain, and though Lucius's attention was on his newspaper he had a small quirk to his lips. Narcissa herself looked much different with her face animated than she had in Harry's foggy memory from when he was fourteen.

Her blond hair had more of a golden tint than Lucius or Draco, but her skin was just as perfectly pale and her crystalline blue eyes held the same superior glow to them. She was a beautiful woman, Harry thought, and for just a moment he stood watching the exceedingly beautiful family before him. How could an entire family be that lucky in the gene pool? He supposed it was something to do with their Veela heritage, though they still seemed to end up on the good end of the stick regardless. He laughed silently and noted that he could see features of both parents in the son. And with the nearly regal poise both held, it was no wonder Draco was the way he was.

He sashayed into the room them, bored with watching, catching the attention of all the rooms occupants. Narcissa was observing him with guarded interest, while Lucius simply nodded and turned back to his paper. Draco scowled but gave a stiff tilt of his head in greeting as Harry gave them a wide grin. "Good morning Pretty, Little Pretty. And good morning to you as well, Mrs. Malfoy!" He walked straight to her and took her hand, bowing low over it. "I must say, I would think to refer to you as Beautiful if the word did not seem so pale in comparison of your magnificence!" He pressed a feather-light kiss to the back of her hand, giving a crooked smile as pink dusted her cheeks and a smile fought past her attempt at a dignified bearing.

Draco was making a dry retching noise in the background that Harry ignored, and Lucius had a mildly amused look on his face. "If you are done charming my wife, my lord…"

Harry laughed. "Jealous, Pretty?"

"Really, Potter," Draco said in a weak voice. "Leave my parents alone!"

Narcissa's eyes were round and Harry sent a mild glare at Draco. At least he knew that Lucius had, in fact, kept his identity a secret. "Since Little Pretty has ruined my game, let me introduce myself, my lady. I am Harry James Potter, known as Mylläkkä, and I am _charmed_ to meet you. Please, do call me Harry."

She stared for another moment before collecting herself, inclining her head. "And I am Narcissa Druella Malfoy and ask you call me Narcissa in return. I have heard much about you."

Harry seated himself in the open chair and grabbed a piece of toast to nibble on. "I'm sure nearly none of it was complimentary in either guise," he said slyly, peeking at Lucius from the corner of his eyes and watching the man clear his throat and raise his newspaper to block his face.

Narcissa smiled genially. "At least in your pseudonym, it has become increasingly flattering over the last weeks."

The reason for Lucius hiding his face became clear and Harry gave a roguish grin, ignoring the groan from the youngest Malfoy. "I am pleased to know that, Narcissa. Hopefully I can leave a good impression of my own on you."

Harry had a feeling his days at Malfoy Manor would only get more entertaining.

* * *

Severus winced as he was Called, his hand clasping his forearm. It was the day before Christmas Eve and it had been nearly two months since he had felt the pain, the longest time since his lord's rebirth. The stinging reminder of his servitude, per usual, sent messages to his brain.

_'Fool. What a dim-witted child you were. Allying yourself with a madman for power -- power he didn't even grant you! A second rate tyrant in a group of misguided hooligans. You became everything you wished to avoid, everything your father was. Magic? What difference does magic make when you're still torturing those weaker than you?'_

He forced his mind to stop recriminating him and sucked in a deep breath, gathering the tattered remnants of his dignity around him even as he stood and pulled his Death Eater robes from his wardrobe. Perhaps things would be different now, now that Potter was standing beside the Dark Lord. Now that Potter himself was no longer an obstacle, perhaps they could move towards the goals they had set decades prior instead of meaningless attacks on unarmed opponents.

Perhaps now he could reclaim his pride.

He stalked through the empty corridors with practiced ease, his teaching robes snapping around him. He would not don his Death Eater's robes while still in the school; not those bloodstained things, real or imagined. He wouldn't wear them in the castle no matter the circumstances, even if he didn't have to be as surreptitious as usual since there were so few students remaining for the holidays. He knew the Potter clone was out there somewhere, and he didn't wish to come within twenty yards of the thing. He would have to deal with Potter enough that night.

The night air slammed into him as he exited the castle and he pulled his Death Eater robes over his shoulders, now free of the school and no longer feeling the leaden weight of guilt. With a sigh that produced a puff of visible air, he continued toward the edge of the wards.

He had nearly crossed the gates when he registered the presence behind him, and he nearly hexed the person for being ballsy enough to have followed him. When he caught sight of golden-blond hair, however, he merely grimaced. "What do you need, Pierce?"

The vampire said nothing as he walked up alongside the Potions master, eyebrow quirked. "Who said you could give me _anything_ I would need, Snape?" The voice was toneless, but Snape's spine stiffened, knowing there would be a sneer accompanying it from anyone else.

"You are following me, Pierce, and since I was under the impression that you were not an utter moron, I assumed that meant you had need of me for something. If there is nothing, I am in a hurry."

Dante flicked back a lock of hair, raising an eyebrow silently. "I am following you because I am going to the same place you are. And you will take me there."

"Like hell I will!"

"You will," said Dante as he gripped Severus' upper arm. "And you will not argue with me. Perhaps Mylläkkä allows it, but I will not allow lip from a twofaced, traitorous _spy_."

Severus drew himself up to his full height, which put him almost perfectly level with the vampire. "And if you think I will let some nonentity like you order me around, you are sorely mistaken, Pierce. While Potter might have authority over me, you have nothing. Now unhand me before I _make_ you unhand me."

"I would like to see you try."

Severus's voice was a rumble as he wrenched his arm away from Dante, black eyes glittering in the moonlight. "You're just like that little shit, aren't you? You get some false idea of power and suddenly you're lording it over anyone you can, content to make their lives miserable. Well let me make this clear, Pierce: I hold the cards. In half a moment I could tell Dumbledore everything, and even if I died I would know it would take him and you down with me."

Dante's blue eyes narrowed and his lip pulled back into a snarl, and Severus was thoroughly shocked by the show of emotion. The man was less expressive than even him, and the expression of fury was unexpected. "Listen to me, Snape. I will not _allow_ you to harm Mylläkkä. Once a traitor, always a traitor, and I am watching you. If you make so much as a twitch that I perceive as you considering giving information over to the old man…"

Dante trailed off and turned his hand to the ground, palm-down, an aura of fiery, crackling magic surrounding it. "I, Durante Lukas Peirno, do pledge on my true name, magic, and the very life that sustains my body that I shall serve as a shield between the one known as Harry James Potter and the one known as Severus Tobias Snape. Should the latter dare to cross the former, I shall guard him. Should the former be endangered by the latter, I forfeit my life in defense. With my life I do pledge," Dante hissed out, the ritualistic words completing with a crackle of magic.

Severus stood frozen, eyes wide. He couldn't move even to let his jaw drop as it wished to. It was not magic that bound him, but a stinging disbelief as he looked into the angry blue eyes of the Vampire before him. The man had just assured his own death should Severus suddenly switch back to the Light and betray Potter. Should any of his actions directly put Harry Potter into jeopardy, the man before him would die.

Dante ran a shaking hand through his hair, visibly blanking his features. If not for the slightly audible pitch of his breathing, Severus might well have believed the calm façade. "Now, are we not late?"

Severus shook his head minutely. "_Why_?" he hissed in disbelief, his voice hardly a whisper. He wanted to ask 'Why Potter? What is it about the boy that inspires such loyalty?'… but he couldn't. He could hardly breath, let alone speak. "Why?"

His question was understood. "For no other reason than for who he is. Not the name or the background, but for the heart and sincerity. You know nothing of the boy, _nothing_. I knew him better than you did after one day in his presence, because I was not blinded as you are."

Finally Severus managed to escape the cold grip of shock. "You would risk your immortality for that? Even if he were a saint I would think you a fool!"

Dante smiled wryly, obviously knowing his mask was broken for the time being. "If he were a saint he would not be worth my time. You of all people should understand this. You who, had luck shined upon you, might have been that boy's father." He ignored the scowl that overtook Severus's features. "He is… he is a reflection. Of you, of me. He is everything someone Dark strives to be. He is powerful, cold, and ruthless, yet still able to live. He can still feel, even with the boundaries he has crossed. It is how he was able to attract the Marquis Valerian, how he captured my interest enough to train a novice.

"He is…" Dante waved a hand, glancing around before catching the moon, "Lunar. He is lunar. Not light, but cold, lifeless. However, no matter how dark the moon may be, it is able to conduct the light of the sun, to reflect it. It is Dark that can be Light. A shadow that is a beacon. That is Mylläkkä perfectly."

Severus was silent, but as the vampire had spoken, something has resonated through him. Something that burnt fierce and hot, something that bloomed hope in his long-dead chest. Perhaps it was merely the quiet passion with which Dante spoke, perhaps it was something more… but he felt more strongly in that moment than he had managed to feel in decades.

Severus silently signaled the vampire to follow him into the Forbidden Forest so he could Apparate them to the meeting. Dante seemed to take the concession for what it was.

* * *

(1) I actually looked up the weather for December of 1996 in Whiltshire. Yes, I am uber lame. XD

Revised: 3/19/09


	20. Façade

Disclaimer: I does not own. I does not want to. Would be shite if I owned. XD

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Façade // the way something appears on the surface, especially when that appearance is false_

* * *

The Malfoys plus Harry were seated in the drawing room when Lucius's right hand darted to his forearm, a grimace of pain reflecting briefly on his face. Harry's eyes lit instantly. "Tom's back?"

Lucius gave a short nod and relaxed. "Apparently so. Would you like to accompany me, my lord?"

"Why would I do that? I can Apparate myself just fine, thank you."

Draco sneered from his place by the fire. "Unless you fancy walking outside of the wards, you will have to go with my father."

Harry gave the young blond a dispassionate look that made him shrink back slightly before standing. "Alright then. We shouldn't keep Tom waiting, should we Pretty?"

Lucius gave him a smirk and stood, a flick of his wand summoning his Death Eater regalia, holding out his arm for Harry. "You do not wish to change, my lord?"

Harry peered down at his outfit; he was dressed rather casually in a pair of trousers and a silvery button-down, but he had no real wish to be more formal. This was his holiday, and damn if he would be formal for anyone… Voldemort or not. Harry walked up to the older man and wrapped an arm around his waist, throwing a wink to the laughing eyes of Narcissa. He liked her quite a bit, she was lovely company, and he had spent much of the last two days with her. Harry locked eyes with Lucius. "No need," he said simply. Lucius nodded and they Disapparated.

They appeared in the centre of the meeting room, many black-clad figures surrounding them, talking in hushed tones. Harry scanned the room quickly and fell upon the pretentious throne at the head, Voldemort's reptilian visage greeting him. Harry did all he could to repress the grin that was threatening to overtake his features as he waved to Lucius and walked quickly to the head of the room.

He hated how girlish he felt at the moment, his heart pounding and his stomach fluttering. It was sentimental and annoying that he wanted to grin like a fool and leap on the other man, simply happy he was returned. Had they not been in a room full of Death Eaters, Harry was rather sure he would have actually stooped to _hugging_ the Dark Lord… amusing though that imagery was, Harry was appalled at his own internal candor.

Finally managing to bypass the genuflecting Death Eaters, Harry let a smile stretch his face as Voldemort turned to face him. He hopped up the steps onto the dais and leaned forward, intruding on Voldemort's personal space impenitently. "Took you damn well long enough, Tom."

Voldemort's lipless mouth curved slightly. "Don't tell me you missed me?"

Harry scoffed loudly but couldn't prevent the heating of his face. He hoped that it wasn't noticeable and put on a cocky smirk. "Why my dear Tom, how could I ever be expected to survive even a moment without you?"

"Ah, but I apologize for ever subjecting you to the horror of existence without my company. Merlin knows your life is endlessly droll and pointless without me." Voldemort placed a hand over his heart before snickering and leaning back into his seat. "I am sure we have much to discuss?"

Harry grew serious. "Yes. You left at the worst time possible and were gone far too long. Much has happened that needs to be brought to your attention."

"We'll get to that once this meeting is over."

"Are you going to tell me what you've been doing? You didn't tell me a bloody thing before you left or while you were gone," said Harry, leaning even closer forward with narrowed eyes.

Voldemort gave a wicked smirk. "You can wait."

"Fine," said Harry, most certainly _not_ pouting as he stood straight. "I need you to hold back your trusted at the end of the meeting, though. Due to incidents you are not aware of since you _left_, I have found it necessary to reveal my identity now to some of the minions."

"My Inner Circle then?"

"So long as those are the ones you trust, then yes." Harry smirked, glancing back at the group and noticing they were still missing a handful of men. The abnormal length between meetings and the unexpected Calling made it expected for the usual wait time to be longer.

"Is there anything I should know before the meeting begins?"

Harry crept back closer to Tom, his face turned away from the dozens of black-robed figures. He hissed his answer quietly in Parseltongue, as it was unable to be overheard and was mistaken for whispering at low levels. _//I have no doubt you are aware that there was a raid on Hogsmeade in your absence to apprehend the traitor in your ranks… while there, Goyle attempted to use the Killing Curse on Harry Potter.//_

Voldemort's crimson eyes narrowed and flicked past Harry shoulder to where the seniors Crabbe and Goyle stood, a murderous intent emanating from him. _//Is that so?//_

Harry's lips curled into something of a smile, and though he was unsure whether the rage was directed at an order willfully ignored or towards Harry's own well-being, he liked to pretend it was the latter. He dragged his eyes across the assembly once more, counting heads as he went. They were only missing one, and Harry assumed it to be Snape. The man had to come all the way out of the wards of Hogwarts, after all.

It took nearly five more minutes -- Harry was beginning to honestly worry by this point -- before a crack of Apparition rang through the room, revealing not only the missing Snape as Harry had assumed, but also the uncloaked blond Dante. Harry groaned mentally.

Dante strode forward, unperturbed by the wands on him, stopping at the base of the dais and inclining his head. "Mylläkkä. Voldemort."

Gasps and angry hisses rang through the room, and Harry sighed. "What are you doing here, Dante?"

The blond let a smirk twist his lips. "I believe I told you I wished to come the next time. I simply convinced Snape to bring me."

Harry turned in a seemingly casual way to put his back to the Death Eaters, and Voldemort's brow raised as he saw the dull flush of color staining his partner's cheeks. Amused, Voldemort turned back to the blond man. "I believe we have not been properly introduced."

Dante swept into a half bow, courteous but far from subservient. "Apologies. I am Durante Lukas Peirno, known currently simply as Dante Pierce. I am currently the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but I am usually employed as a guardian and advisor to the Marquis Valerian in Sceaduwe Citadel. I have heard much about you, Voldemort."

There were low muttering throughout the room that their owners could not seem to stifle. A glare from Voldemort silenced them all, but Harry was again impressed at the weight Valerian's name seemed to carry. He had never heard of him until the day they had met, and he was used to the immortals immediately becoming deferential when faced with him, but it was another thing entirely to see mortal witches and wizards becoming fearful with the mention of the vampire's name.

"And I you. You are well known in the History books, and P…" Harry heard Voldemort pause and threw the man an amused look, knowing the man had gotten far too used to referring to him by his surname. "_Mylläkkä _here has spoken of you often."

"I must say that he speaks of you… often… as well." This was said with a wicked smirk, much more expressive than Dante's usual looks, and Harry was thankful he had kept his back turned to the Death Eaters as his face flamed again, a scowl setting over his face.

"That is enough, Dante," he hissed, glaring at him over his shoulder. "You will hold all conversation until this meeting is concluded. If I had known you were serious about attending I might have prepared."

The elder vampire looked seriously into the younger's eyes, lips pursed as he read how annoyed he was making him. "As you wish, Mylläkkä."

Voldemort watched the byplay with interest, eyes darting back and forth between the two. Harry was sure he wanted answers.

"You may stand off to the side until the meeting has concluded," said Voldemort with a wave of his hand. "We will converse once I get rid of the morons who can't even seem to deal with a month without me."

The bodies of the Death Eaters were deathly still and Harry turned with a blank expression to watch the proceedings. On the outside, the vampire Mylläkkä was watching Voldemort call on his minions, taking lengthy reports and doling out punishment for unsatisfactory results. But on the inside, Harry was fuming and annoyed, silently cursing the cocky blond who was watching so nonchalantly from the wall. He loved Dante, honestly he did… but there had been a few times in their decade of friendship that Harry wished strangling him would have an effect.

This was one of those times.

The meeting was boring, and Harry spent an inordinate amount of time peering at Voldemort's reptilian visage from the corner of his eye. He tried his damndest to reconcile the strange squeezing of his chest with the pale, spindly man on the throne, his heart hammering every time those crimson eyes slid to meet his gaze. What was wrong with him? Why had elation spread through him the second he had realized Voldemort had returned? Why had be wanted shake the man and question why hadn't written more, assured him he was safe? Why had his first instinct been to merely touch the man somehow, to assure himself all was fine? It wasn't lust… that he was used to. Lust and mere interest were common and easy to define with the fluttering sensations and eye-glazing fantasies.

Was this the true extent of having real feelings for someone?

Harry didn't know if he liked it.

Harry gave a quiet, self-depreciating laugh when the cracks of Disapparition startled him from his daze. He must have been quite out of it as he saw two Death Eaters lugging the lolling figure of the elder Goyle away, signifying that Harry had managed to zone out through the torture. Vaguely, Harry wondered if the burly man was dead; though his limbs still twitched spastically, that could be a result of nerve damage to the corpse. Harry trailed his eyes over those who had walked forward and placed themselves in a crescent at the base of the dais. These were Voldemort's elite, his Inner Circle. He surveyed them critically.

There was Lucius, of course, pulling off his mask and pushing back his hood. The man caught his eyes for a moment and raised a brow, though he pointedly ignored the salacious grin Harry sent him. The man was standing by his mandate from Harry's first night in the manor, and though he was pleased with Lucius for it, it was maddening.

Severus stood by his side, equine nose angled up per usual. Once his loyalties had been affirmed, Harry had suggested the man be made privy to the Inner meetings. After all, he was the only Death Eater in Hogwarts with Harry, and if Harry was going to make decisions he wanted the man's opinions. This was assuming Severus could hold his tongue… but Harry was hardly worried about it in front of Voldemort. Severus had spent years watching his tongue in front of the Dark Lord, after all.

Beside Severus was Rabastan Lestrange, slightly younger brother to Rodolphus. Harry didn't think there could be more than a year or two between them. If same-sex fraternal twins weren't so rare in the magical world, Harry might have believed they could have been. He was sickly pale and gaunt, his eyes somewhat glassy but his bearing proud.

Rodolphus was next, husband to Bellatrix. Unlike his brother, he was actually rather ruggedly handsome, Harry thought, despite his years in Azkaban. His face was broad and he had a strong jaw line that was lined with a close-cropped beard. His eyes were alert and without the haunted cast Harry was used to associating with Azkaban escapees, his posture rigid as he stood waiting his lord's command.

Next was Bellatrix, who really needed no introduction. Her face had filled out a bit in the intervening months since the Department of Mysteries debacle, but she still had the wildness to her eyes that gave Harry the distinct impression that she was barely holding on to her mind. Currently, she was intermittently glaring in his direction and looking to Voldemort with reverence, something that make Harry smirk. He loved toying with the woman, and playing on his closeness with Voldemort was the best way to do that, surpassing any torture that could be inflicted.

Antonin Dolohov stood to her other side, lined face set in a grim expression. Harry rather thought that was his usual look, though. He didn't like the man on sight, remembering the purple curse he had hit Hermione with. He didn't hold a grudge, really, but the man just rubbed him the wrong way. He was one of the oldest Death Eaters still living, his grayed hair thinned across the temples.

Walden Macnair and Augustus Rookwood ended the line, the two former Ministry informants looked much the same as they had the last Harry had seen them in the Department of Mysteries, Macnair's moustache, though, was missing. Rookwood, also, now sported a long scar from his temple down his neck, though Harry didn't have a clue how he'd gotten it. It stood out even among the pockmarks that littered his face, an angry red speaking of recent scarring.

Harry watched the last of the lower ranked Death Eaters disappear and dropped to sit on the ground, unperturbed of the looks of disdain he received. Unlike the others in the room, he saw no correlation between power and decorum, and Harry couldn't honestly care less about what those who didn't know him thought of him. He wasn't about to pull a Dumbledore and summon a chair, and he wouldn't stand and be uncomfortable while the reports were given. As Death Eaters, the eight of them had no choice. Harry on the other hand did. Harry leaned against Voldemort's seat beside the man's legs, green eyes flicking to red. Voldemort nodded barely with a bemused smirk and tapped long fingers on the arm of his throne. "Lucius. Report."

Lucius took a single step forward, bowing low. "My lords. The Minister has been agitated as of late and whispers are beginning that he is considering allying himself with the Order of the Phoenix. Since the prophecy was leaked to the media in November, he feels that getting on the Order's side will put him in Potter's good graces."

Harry snorted loudly, causing all eyes to flick his direction. Voldemort glared. Harry, of course, ignored him.

Lucius went on without acknowledging the interruption. "The Minister will no longer listen to my counsel since my arrest," gray eyes made an aborted motion to glare at Harry and ended up looking like a twitch, "but the general consensus is that it would be foolish to ally with Dumbledore. They are still convinced the old man wishes to take the Ministry himself."

Voldemort brought his fingers to his lipless mouth, absently running them across it. "When do you think this will end up having an effect?"

"Perhaps the end of the school year, my lord."

"Then it's a moot point," Harry put in, cocking his head at Lucius. "Because by then, Dumbledore will be dead. I think you should play on these fears they have, Pretty. We decided early on we'd leave Fudge in office for now, both for his malleability and the doubts he forms in people. The longer he stays on, the more people will fear where the Wizarding world is being taken. I'll have Dumbledore out of the picture soon enough."

Bellatrix was sneering, her face twisted. Harry could tell she had been beautiful at some point, but between the effects of Azkaban and her repugnant expressions, there was little to enjoy. "Awfully confident, aren't you? Seems to me that you do nothing around here! You call yourself a partner to my lord and yet you're hardly ever here! Unworthy fool, what makes you think that _you_ can defeat Dumbledore when my lord has yet been able to?!"

Voldemort's yew wand was raised immediately, but Harry laid a hand on his knee. "No, please, allow me. I think it's long past my turn."

Voldemort's crimson eyes were narrowed dangerously, the glare piercing Harry, but he refused to back down. If they were meant to be equals, the Dark Lord would just have to deal with it. Harry was normally content to let Voldemort handle things… he had no interest in supremacy, after all. Sighing, Harry pulled out his wand and leveled it on the faltering brunette. "Tsk tsk, Bella. You not only insulted your new lord, but you managed to imply your Lord Voldemort was incompetent. _Crucio."_

Bellatrix hit her knees almost immediately, dark eyes crossing in pain. Harry grinned and leaned forward, locking his green eyes with her. "You said to me once, Bella," he said in a cheerful voice, "that I had to _mean it_ for the Cruciatus to work. That I needed to really want to cause pain -- to enjoy it. Can you feel how much I'm enjoying it now, Bellatrix?" The woman could take no more and screamed, back bowing and her head connecting with the floor with a dull thud. Harry chuckled.

Sweeping his eyes over the other Death Eaters, Harry stood from his spot beside Voldemort's legs and brushed back his hair. "For those of you in this room who are not already aware, I shall be introducing myself to you now. This information is not to cause you any less deference than I deserve and you will find very quickly that I do not tolerate insubordination." He paused to give a wicked grin down at Bellatrix who was dragging herself to her feet. "While I am known as Mylläkkä, I was born as Harry Potter." He smirked at the widened eyes. "Come now, you know me… the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, the Golden Boy, prophesized conqueror of the scary Dark Lord…"

Voldemort snorted inelegantly. "Flair for dramatics much?"

Harry grinned and bowed mockingly to the Death Eaters before taking his seat again, leaning this time purposefully against Voldemort's legs and watching Bellatrix's wan face turn livid red. He tilted his head back to meet amused crimson eyes. "You should now that by now, dear Voldemort." He turned his eyes back on the either before him, looking to each of them in turn. "I may not be here as often as you deem I should be, but that is a perk of being the one in power. You have no say whatsoever. I will not justify myself to you, Bellatrix, nor anyone else. Anyone who needs to know where I spend my time already knows."

"Potter?! I refuse to…" Bellatrix began, ignoring the jerk her husband have to her arm and the disapproving look.

"Refuse to what, Bella? I think you have no say whatsoever," Voldemort hissed, leaning forward over Harry's shoulder. "I am well aware of who he is and what I am doing. Next time you deign yourself worthy to question me, remember this. _Crucio." _This time, she screamed instantly, writhing on the ground under her second Cruciatus in as many minutes. When she was released there were unwilling tears lining her face.

"Does ickle Bellie hurt?" Harry prodded, grinning at the clenching of the woman's fists.

Before either of them could make the situation worse, Voldemort cut in. "May I commence with the meeting now, Potter, or do you have more thespian skill to awe us with?" There was a dangerous tone beneath the pleasant veneer to the man's voice that Harry ignored.

"Oh, by all means."

Voldemort glared but turned back to his gobsmacked Death Eaters. "Macnair! Rookwood! Have either of you managed to reconnect with your Ministry informants?"

Harry let his attentions drift once more, distracted by the warm limbs at his back and the memory of hot breath over his neck when the man had been leaning over him. Really, he had always imagined the man to be cold. He ignored the chill that ran down his spine and fought off the content fog that threatened to lay across his mind. He tried to focus on the dual screams of Rookwood and Macnair as they were tortured for being unable to make contacts after their imprisonments, but found his mind drifting back to recriminations and annoyance. What was he, anyway, an adolescent schoolgirl?

Harry was jolted back to reality when he felt something butting against his hand impatiently and looked down to see Nagini's large head glaring up at him from his lap. _//I see how it is, brat. You welcome home Master yet ignore my greatness. Can't rightly see anything else in the room when Master's about, can you?//_

Harry scowled down at the snake but obliged her needy bumping with a few strokes between her eyes. _//I didn't even know you were there so how do you assume I am ignoring you? Don't be foolish.//_

The huge snake coiled at his side. _//Use your stick to make me warm, brat. Master does not allow me to settle upon him when his underlings are hanging about. I don't suppose you would either, would you?//_

_//You are both being exceptionally distracting,// _Voldemort inputted suddenly, glaring at them and causing Harry to realize they had become the center of attention_. //It's bad enough I can understand you and have to try and ignore you both, but you're catching attention, Potter. Stop now. You two can witter on once the Death Eaters have left.//_

Harry glared silently up at Voldemort but didn't bother to argue, feeling a bit like a reprimanded child.

"Lucius, did you manage for the Minister to accept your invite to your Winter Ball?"

Harry's attention was pulled back into the meeting. He had known about the Ball, of course, as he had been helping Narcissa to plan it with the House elves, but he hadn't been aware the Minister would be attending. The blond was looking at Voldemort. "Yes sir, once he realized how much of high society was attending it was inevitable. He accepted last night."

Harry glared at Lucius for not telling him but kept silent as Voldemort closed the meeting. Harry stood and walked to the blond with a raised eyebrow. "Any reason you didn't tell me about the Minister?"

Lucius gave him a wry look. "You spent half the night up with Narcissa planning the damnable thing, I was under the impression she would have mentioned the possibility."

"Still jealous?" Harry chuckled, watching Voldemort order Rabastan and Rodolphus to take away the unconscious Macnair and Rookwood. Apparently, the Dark Lord had been most displeased with them. "Anyway, it's no matter really. I think I will be staying here for the night if Tom is amenable… we have too much to discuss for me to keep you waiting."

Dante, who had been silently observing, smirked faintly. "I'm sure…"

"Dante, shouldn't you be getting back to Hogwarts?" Harry said in the sweetest voice possible, his icy eyes contradicting the tone.

"Without the mark of your Voldemort, I cannot Apparate out of these wards. I must await Snape… unless you mean to show me the way to the entrance hall?"

Harry turned and sought out Severus, nearly desperate to be rid of his friend. He found him a few feet away, a bored expression over his features. "I was waiting to ask… my lord a question."

"Well, what is it?"

"I wondered the ages of those you wished me to pass along to you."

Harry sighed. "Just fifth and sixth years. Seventh years will be useless as they will be graduated by the time they are needed, and I have no want to try and put up with any younger than that."

Severus bowed, and Harry was struck by how uncommonly obedient and respectful Snape was being. "If that is all?"

"You may go. And take this annoying bastard with you, please?"

"We will talk about this later, Mylläkkä. Have no doubt about that," said Dante.

"I have no doubt." He stared into the slit-pupiled blue eyes of the elder Vampire, a rough tension surrounding them. Harry knew his friend meant well, but when he had yet to accept any of this himself, he didn't need Dante's brand of 'help'.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow from where he was still lounging on his throne. "Were there not matters to discuss with me, Pierce?"

Dante bowed. "No, Voldemort, I merely wished to watch one of these meetings. It helps me to be acquainted with procedure for the future, as I am pledged to Mylläkkä for the next ten years."

Harry saw by the look on Voldemort's face that he was unconvinced, but he allowed the blond to take Snape's arm and Disapparate.

Soon, with threats to Bellatrix, Harry and Voldemort had managed to clear the room of the last of the Death Eaters and were making their way back to Voldemort's study in the back of the manor, Nagini hissing happily from where she was wrapped around her master's shoulders. They reached the room and Harry raised his eyebrow as the Dark Lord hovered in the doorway. "Not sure what to do with yourself after being gone for weeks, Tom?"

Voldemort frowned. "You're unusually cheeky tonight."

Harry waved his hand negligently. "You should be used to it by now. Well, are you coming in or not? We have much to talk about."

"I trust you can entertain yourself for twenty minutes? I refuse to do anything before I've taken a shower. I called the Death Eaters immediately after returning."

Harry gave the man an incredulous look. "It can't wait?"

"Salazar, no. I missed my bathroom more than anything else while I was gone. It feels like… a lifetime since I've been able to enjoy it," he said slyly.

"You missed a room… a room in which you relieve yourself, I might add… more than _me_?!" Harry asked with an exaggerated pout. "I am so offended!" Harry paused before dropping the theatrical act. "Anyway, I thought this mansion was purely muggle. What's there to miss?"

"As if I would _leave_ the manor as disgustingly mundane as I found it. Entertain yourself with beginning the reports I missed while I was gone, won't you?"

Harry gaped as the man smirked and left the room with a snap of his robes, leaving Harry staring in horror at the pile of papers that would have undoubtedly fallen over if not for magic. It swayed perilously as he watched, and Harry held back a groan. Just for leaving him, Harry was going to work really, really _slowly._

* * *

An hour later, Harry was staring blankly at the precarious stack, trying to figure out what could possibly be taking Voldemort so long. He had managed a handful of the papers before he had gotten tired of not understanding what was written, his brain too stuck on finally getting his answers to concentrate. He stood and spun around towards the doorway that Voldemort had vacated and made his way up the stairs that led to the living quarters in the upper floors of the manor.

He used the sixth sense his scar gave him to search out where Voldemort was, growling as he found the man to be on the fourth floor. _'Of course he would be on the topmost floor,' _Harry thought sarcastically,_ 'Because he can't make anything easy on me…'_ The stairs were narrow and dark, only small sconces of magically created light illuminating it. The way was dusty due to the years with no one as an inhabitant other than Voldemort himself; even the manor's few House elves wouldn't go beyond the public floor.

The door was left open to the room his senses told him Voldemort was in. He chuckled under his breath as he listened before entering, the slow, even breathing signifying that Voldemort had fallen asleep. Oh, but Harry would love teasing him for this one once he'd woken him.

Harry froze in his tracks once he'd pushed open the door more widely, hand still on the antique knob and one foot poised to take a step inside. His heart rate sped and he could practically _feel_ his eyes dilating.

Because Voldemort was not on the bed. No. Despite the expanses of lightly muscled pale skin that glowed in the moonlight distracting him, and despite the wet dark hair, graying slightly at the temples, that obscured half the man's face, Harry knew who it was immediately. It was not Voldemort.

It was Tom Riddle.

* * *

Revised: 3/19/09

* * *


	21. Spuriousness

Disclaimer: I does not own. I does not want to. Would be shite if I owned. XD

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

As you can see, Tom is now referred to as Tom out of dialogue. Until this point, he was always Voldemort unless it was Harry speaking _about_ or _to _him. This will differentiate between forms. Voldemort ≈ no nose. Tom ≈ nose. Any questions? XD

Also, for you skimmers out there, please don't totally skip over Hermione's section-- it will prove important.

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Spuriousness // not genuine, different from what it is claimed to be_

* * *

Harry's harsh exhalation of air was like a thunderclap in the silent room, breaking the daze Harry had found himself in and causing his eyes to jerk to the man's obscured face. He didn't stir. This was strange in and of itself, and Harry took a step forward with a vague sense of worry. Tom didn't strike him as a sound sleeper, after all. Harry's eyes trailed down a thin arm to the wand held in a lax grip, a slightly blue glow surrounding it. That was it, then. It was something Harry himself had done many times over the years to assure he would get at least a bit of sleep when time was against him. It was a timed sleeping hex, able to be set to whatever amount of time was available and immediately cast you into a deep sleep, the hex lifting once the allotted time was up. Harry wouldn't have thought that such a paranoid man would allow himself to be put into such a vulnerable state, but he simply counted his blessings.

The man's skin glowed in the moonlight, only given modesty by the sheet draped low on his hips. Harry's eyes focused in on the sparse hair trailing across the flat stomach and disappearing under the sheet, his body tensing as he resisted the urge to follow the path with his tongue. His fingers twitched at his side in an urge to reach towards the pale skin.

Lust. Now this was something Harry was familiar with. He had to exercise every ounce of his willpower not to leap onto the bed and give Tom a wake-up call he would never forget; Harry wasn't particularly in the mood to be hexed out of his skin. These urges he knew, this appreciation of the lean body before him was something recognizable. He banished all the confused thoughts of the early evening and let his eyes peruse the beautiful sight before him more carefully.

Arms were thin but lightly muscled; Dark Lords Did Not Do physical labor, after all, and weren't expected to have bulging biceps. The chest was defined more than Harry would have thought, shoulders not overly broad. The neck was long and elegant, leading to a masculine, angled jaw line and prominent cheekbones. Lips were thin but shapely, nose long and straight. Harry wished he could see the man's eyes in that moment to see whether they were still burning crimson or if they were the dark blue of the younger Tom.

Harry noticed that the skin across the shoulders was slightly darker than the ivory tone of the chest and stomach and took another step closer, head tilting to the side and eyes narrowed. It seemed not all the effects of the reptilian visage were gone, as the skin appeared rough there in a likeness of the scales he had always noticed across the top of Voldemort's hands. Again Harry's hands trembled at his side as he held himself back from running his fingers across them to feel the texture.

Had Harry not been so distracted, he might have noticed the blue glow leave the wand, but was instead frozen in place as the man on the bed groaned and an arm came up to lay across his eyes. "Hell, half an hour wasn't enough," Tom grumbled, the muscles in his jaw tensed and working as he swallowed.

Harry remained entranced as the arm fell away and brilliant crimson eyes fell on him, the body tensing for a moment before relaxing again. "Do you make it a habit of watching people sleep, Potter?"

Harry gulped as the man stood fluidly, uncaring of his nudity, and arched his back in a stretch that sent audible pops into the room. Harry licked his lips as he tried to raise his eyes from Tom's backside. "You went on a journey for two months in order to regain your body?" Harry said with a flippant note in his voice that he didn't feel at all.

Tom scoffed as he reached into his wardrobe and pulled out a pair of crisply creased black trousers. "Hardly. I'm not vain enough to have taken important time away like that."

"Oh really?" Harry drawled, regaining a bit of his equilibrium and finally managing to move his eyes to the man's face. He appeared middle aged in this form, perhaps forty or so with a dignified air to him. Tom was looking at him with amusement over his shoulder as he pulled up the trousers, chin length dark hair swept behind his ears. "And here I see you leave looking like a snake and returning…" Harry attempted to sound uncaring and make an offhand comment, but found he couldn't as an alluring smirk curved the man's lips.

Tom chuckled and turned towards him, doing up the fly as he stalked towards Harry. "You like what you see, then?"

Harry's tense jaw quivered. "It's… an improvement…"

Tom laughed again. "Really? Is that all you can say?"

Whereas moment ago Harry had been having trouble forcing his eyes up to meet Tom's, now the opposite was true. He was captivated in the crimson gaze, unable to look away to regain his dignity. He wished sorely that he had taken Lucius's offer of a robe as the half-bared man slunk towards him, moving with a grace Harry could never hope to possess. Tom stopped directly in front of him, Harry's back against the door, and leaned forward, his breath tickling Harry's lips. "You have a problem, Potter, with your incessant need to be in control of your life. Is it a byproduct of your younger years, perhaps? You seem to refuse to let yourself express what you think unless you are sure it will benefit your ends."

"I could say the same about you," Harry said as he tried to control his breathing.

"Perhaps. But there's a difference between us, Potter." Tom paused and smirked, licking his lips slowly. "I take what I want regardless of control. Sometimes, life is about _losing it_."

For a long moment Harry's breath caught, and he was sure the older man would kiss him. Tom leaned forward until their lips were a hairsbreadth apart, close enough that Harry was losing all his oxygen and was nearly lost enough to close the final millimeter between them, breath panting and heart rate soaring…

And then Tom leaned away.

"But that's a discussion for another time, don't you think, Potter?"

Harry glared at the other man, unreasonably angry for the slight. He growled and jerked his head to the side. "Whatever. If you meant to take a kip you could have warned me. I'll wait in your study."

Harry walked away from Tom without looking back. If he had, he might have seen the aborted step the Dark Lord took towards him.

* * *

"Are you done with your strop yet, Potter?"

Harry didn't look up, but he knew he was being foolish. What right did he have, really, to be so offended? He was being a twit and he knew it… but knowing the truth and doing something about it are two very different things.

"Whatever, I know you're listening so I'll just talk. I was searching out a spellsmith named Alec Greene. His grandfather worked for me when I first left Hogwarts and happened to have engineered several of the rituals I went through in those years. I left on a chance that his talent had been passed down. I needed something -- a spell or an object -- imbued with a spell that would allow us to discern someone's leanings. Taking down the ministry will be infinitely easier if we can decide whose loyalties lie congruent to our own.

"He attempted to hide himself away from me, but I was able to track him down. His personality and finesse are far inferior to his grandfather, but his speed was exceptional. Not that it spared his life, of course, but it was relatively painless in contrast to most people who try to secret themselves away from me."

"None of that explains why you're now sporting a nose, Riddle," Harry snarked, glaring petulantly.

Crimson eyes rolled. "You're so petty. I look like this because this is what I am supposed to look like. I am a metamorphmagus."

Harry finally turned to look at Tom, an irritated twitch asserting itself beneath his left eye. "You mean to tell me that you've been able to do this all this time?"

"No," Tom chuckled. "Unfortunately, the rituals I did to attempt immortality and gain power had many side effects. My eyes and skin are only minor ones in comparison to others. One of the more annoying consequences was that I became trapped in my affected form." With only the slightest tightening of his jaw, Tom was replaced by Voldemort."I was able to assume my natural form for a few moments, but holding it any longer than a minute or two and it caused excruciating pain. I had Mister Greene take care of that as well."

Harry's nose wrinkled. "Why would you choose a form like that?"

"The world is about power, Potter, but I wanted to so much more. I wanted unconditional fear, I wanted the Wizarding world at my feet. I wanted the mention of my name to strike terror into those opposed to me and cow those who served me. I wanted terror and mayhem at the barest glimpse of my face, I wanted _real_ power. If this form is what struck terror and made me unable to be confused with any other… all the better. The heir of Salazar Slytherin needed to be distinguishable, after all."

Harry blinked several times before leaning forward, his elbow propped on the desk separating them. "Wow, you really are nutters, aren't you?"

Another slight shift in his posture and Tom was once again seated across from him. "I was… ambitious."

"No. Your followers, for braving through your torture sessions to see the world they envision, are ambitious. You are a megalomaniac."

"Semantics, I'm sure. Now, you know where I was and why it took me as long as I did." Tom seemed inclined to ignore the squawked protest Harry raised, casually raising his bare foot to prop on the edge of his desk and draping his arms over his bent knee. "So isn't it your turn? Or were you as useless in my absence as my Death Eaters?"

Harry gritted his teeth and growled. "Do shut up, Tom. I spent the weeks researching, mostly. First, Dante and I were creating a spell that will ensure privacy. It is keyed to an entire room and makes it impossible for the people within it to utter anything told to them in the room outside of a key person's presence and without permission; we based the concept on the Fidelius Charm. I hope to have the details worked out in time for when I meet with the students who might be converted. After all, without the proper steps taken, Dumbledore's death will only manage to cement the loyalties of those in the school to the Light."

Tom nodded. "Yes, because if he dies a martyr's death then we will become even more ostracized for being the ones to have taken down the 'wonderful Albus Dumbledore'. We will only attract the cowards who wish to save their own skin and miss out on the rest, giving us more opposition."

"Exactly. So, other than finding a way to reveal myself to many students without fear of being turned in, I have also been researching Dumbledore's past… something that has proven very interesting. Were you aware he was friends with Grindelwald?"

"Was he now?" Tom purred, a content grin stretching his face and once again nearly making Harry's breathing catch. "How delightful. What else have you learned?"

"I wrote out a report on the things I've found." Harry pulled a small trunk from his pocket and tapped his wand on it to resize it, rifling through it until he came across a scroll of parchment labeled 'D x G'. "So I'll give this to you now so that you can do what you please with the information. There are also some people listed who might be able to give you more information… willing or not. I have an identical copy linked to yours, so as I find out more I will add it."

Tom put the parchment aside and nodded. "Good, this will make for some interesting reactions, I'm sure."

Harry nodded and moved to close his trunk, pausing and looking into it. After a glance to Tom he sighed and reached inside, pulling out a small bundle wrapped in a bit of silky cloth. "Since I will be spending Christmas with the Malfoys, I will give this to you now. I didn't think you'd mind it wasn't wrapped." Harry refused to meet crimson eyes that were watching him with surprise. "It isn't much and it's more of a practical gift than anything… but, well…" He sat it on the desk and pushed the material aside, tapping it with his wand and hissing a sibilant command before looking at a wall to his left.

Tom watched as the revealed silver snake, only the diameter of his pinky finger, became animated and slithered towards him, hissing unintelligibly. It took his distraction and slithered over his lax hand, winding itself around his wrist and becoming still, now nothing but a metal bracelet, "It's lovely, Potter, but you said it was practical?" Tom managed, still entranced by the craftsmanship. Every scale was defined and though the coolness told him it was but metal, the way it had moved had been fluid and natural.

"It only responds to Parseltongue and will allow us to send messages back and forth." Harry undid the button of his cuff and rolled his sleeve, revealing a duplicate of the snake found around his forearm near his elbow. "It will warm to signify that a message is waiting, and you only need to tap it with your wand and say 'Play' for it to give the message. To send, you merely tap it and say your message. The two are linked magically."

Tom stroked a finger over the lifeless bracelet. "Ingenious. Where did you manage to find something like this?"

Harry shifted in his seat. "I made it."

Tom's eyes left the gift and fell on the uncomfortable countenance of his partner. "Really, now?"

Verdant eyes flicked to meet crimson before looking away again. "I found out years ago that I had a natural talent for metalworking. All it takes from there is some creative spell work."

"Thank you, Potter, it is a royal gift."

Harry nodded but looked awkward. Tom changed the subject easily, knowing exactly what to say to rile up his partner again. "So, how long did you stand there watching me sleep? You're lucky I didn't hex you immediately upon waking."

An angry flush crept up Harry's neck. "I was only wondering why a short shower took you over an hour and went looking for you. I had just walked in when you woke up."

"Funny, Potter, because your eyes were rather glazed for someone who had just walked in…"

"Stuff it, Riddle," Harry threw back automatically before he paused and took a deep breath. Realization spread over him slowly with a comforting warmth. He was never this way. It was true he often felt much less confident than he appeared, but he never let such weakness show to those who would exploit it. And right now, Tom was doing just that. He was better than this, damnit, and he knew it. Even if Tom was only using their usual repartee, Harry had to do the same. Pouting like a child was getting him nowhere.

As Tom had said so definitively… sometimes life was about losing control and taking what you wanted.

Harry stood and planted his hands palm-down on the desk, leaning over it to look into Tom's eyes. "If I didn't know you so well, Tom, I'd think you enjoyed the attention. And I'd also think you have no idea how to do anything about it," he paused and let a wicked smirk curve his lips. "If I didn't know you better, of course."

Tom was obviously thrown off balance by the change in Harry's demeanor, eyes widening, before his face smoothed into a mocking smile. "Funny, Potter. But I think your Gryffindor audaciousness is showing through. You could very well be making an arse out of yourself if you're wrong."

"I could," Harry conceded. "But I think I've thrown you off balance. You know me, too well I think most of the time, and I know you just as well. I'm not faceless or anonymous. You don't know what to do about me, do you? And if I'm wrong…" Harry leaned forward until their noses almost touched, eyes half lidded as the remembered lust of an hour prior swept through him like a tidal wave. "Then say it, Riddle."

Tom's face morphed into a vicious look and a growl rose from his throat. Harry hardly had a moment to react before lips collided with his own, a hand gripping his collar and yanking him forward across the desk. Papers scattered and Harry submitted instantly to the harsh pressure, tilting his head back and letting a groan escape his throat.

It was ecstasy. Perhaps it was his confusion, perhaps the anticipation and the effort needed to get to this point, but Harry lost himself instantly and let himself be pulled into Tom's lap and pressed hard against the desk. The edge dug into the small of his back painfully but he didn't care, the pain only reminding him of the reality of the situation. He pushed his hands up into Tom's hair at the slightly graying temples, gripping tightly in an attempt to pull the man impossibly closer.

The lips trailed down across his jaw to his neck, teeth sinking harshly in against the skin. Already long fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, and Harry was struck but how _hot_ the other man was, how alive and burning. "This means nothing, Potter," was hissed against his neck.

Harry pressed harder against the older man and let his eyes fall shut, a grimace unseen over his features even as he arched his back. No matter how his heart clenched, he knew it was better than nothing. _It had to be._

"Yes, nothing. Of course not, Tom. Nothing at all."

* * *

Hermione's head was killing her. It throbbed incessantly with the intensity of a jackhammer, growing steadily the more she thought over her current problem.

Her parents wanted to pull her out of Hogwarts.

The disaster at the Department of Mysteries had seriously worried them. In the previous years, Hermione had always tried to gloss over the dangers that were rife in the Wizarding world, skipping over the more death defying aspects of her adventures with Ron and Harry and letting it sound far more like a fairytale than any real menace. She had managed to allay any fears they had had, never mentioning her personal sacrifices. Her petrifaction was passed off as a spell backfiring, bruises and scrapes after third year played down as an incident with Crookshanks, and her stressed countenance after her fourth year had been taken as teenaged angst. She had never wanted her parents to realize just what kind of life she had there, how much turmoil being close to the 'Boy-Who-Lived' (not that her parents had any understanding of why he was so special) brought her.

But when Dolohov had injured her in her fifth year, she couldn't pass it off as anything else. Dumbledore's letter had been very specific, after all. They had been frightened and confused, unable to understand why they had been after criminals and how such men were able to get away with what they did. The world of magic was much like a fantasy novel to them, and trying to reconcile it with reality had been very hard.

When she had left just weeks before her seventeenth birthday, it was with her parents watching with troubled eyes from the platform and a dire assurance that they would not tolerate any further danger to her person.

They had received a letter from the school, as all the parents had, regarding the death of Sybill Trelawney. Hermione was actually rather aghast at the detail it went into, but thought her Transfiguration professor's rather clinical personality lent to that. And as such, her parents had decided she would not be returning to Hogwarts.

She was a legal adult in both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds, though, and she didn't plan to abide their mandate.

They had been arguing since she got home days prior; for the first time in her life, Hermione could recall her parents being red-faced and shouting. She had always been a good child, a stickler for the rules with a complacent demeanor. And her parents, too, were rather calm and intelligent people, never arguing in loud tones but instead preferring to speak through their differences. But this last week had been full of shouts and clenched fists, threats and harsh declarations. And Hermione had had this headache for days.

And currently, it was killing her.

Lou Granger was a kindly man by nature, but currently his jaw was vibrating with tension and his eyes had a hard cast. "Hermione Jean Granger… you've left us with no choice. If you will not stay away from that… that _school _of yours, we will have to take harsher action."

Hermione glared. "Just what will you do? I am of age, Dad, and no matter what you and Mum think, I won't leave Hogwarts! I refuse not to graduate and I can't leave Harry like that!"

"That boy," Patricia Granger said slowly, her voice much quieter than either her husband or daughter's, "is the reason everyone gets hurt around that school, isn't he? You don't need any certification they can give you, Mi-Mi, you can go to university and get a good, respectable job, away from all these… Voldiemarts and Death Swallowers…"

"I don't _want_ a 'good, respectable job', Mum! I want to stay in the Wizarding world! It is where I belong now, can't you see? I am a witch, and you've always supported me until now, why are you doing this to me now?"

"It's for your own good, Hermione. You _will not_ be returning to that school. We will pull your tuition…"

"I'll get a scholarship, then! Or I'll ask Harry to lend me next year's fees! You can't stop me, Dad!"

"I can and I will," Lou said in a low voice, a dangerous tone that raised Hermione's hackles and sent her headache thrumming so painfully through her mind that she could hardly see. Vaguely and for the first time, she was conscious of the tiny voice in her mind whispering how unnatural the headache was. "If you won't listen to reason, we'll take you to an asylum! They won't know anything about this _magic_ you spout on about, and you won't have any chance to endanger yourself there!"

The last thing Hermione remembered was drawing her vine wood wand as the agonizing pain in her temples reached a crescendo… before her world went dark.

* * *

Food for Thought: Voldiemart. Imagine, if you will, Voldemort in an apron selling cooking supplies on an infomercial… now there's a thought to lighten your day. XD My lovely Raine and I had a ball thinking about this one. XD

Revised: 3/19/09


	22. Ameliorate

Disclaimer: I does not own. I does not want to. Would be shite if I owned. XD

__

//This is Parseltongue.//

* * *

****

Paraselenic

__

Ameliorate // to make or become better, more bearable, or more satisfactory

* * *

Intensity. That was the only word Harry's foggy waking mind could come up with to describe the events of the night before. The fiery relationship he and Tom shared at the best of times had transmuted itself into an uncontrolled passion easily, leaving both of them scalded in its wake. To Harry, it had been ethereal… though once the hazy fog of lust and need had abated, it left a sour taste in his mouth.

Because, as Tom had said, it meant nothing.

…To Tom, at least.

Harry didn't make it a habit to lie to himself, and he knew the truth quite plainly, no matter how much he didn't understand it and wished it wasn't so. He had hardly been working through his unexplainable feelings for Voldemort the day before, and now here he was nude in bed with the amazingly attractive version of said man. He had a feeling things would get infinitely worse before they got better.

He had never experienced anything like it before. With his trysts, it had been about sex and little else. With Valerian, there had been emotion, but it just hadn't been… powerful. It was more of a comfort, something they did to feel connected to another being. There hadn't been any real passion between them despite the lust they had always felt. Their relationship had been consuming yet easily burnt through, lasting in short spurts of lust and leaving a contentment borne of friendship rather than love.

Harry hated to admit it, but the intensity he had shared the night before with Tom scared him. Badly. Because it meant nothing.

It couldn't mean anything.

Harry banished the angst-ridden thoughts as a warm arm wound around his waist and yanked him to the side, leaving him molded to the equally nude frame of Tom. "Shut up and go back to sleep, Potter, it's too damned early for thinking."

Harry snorted and wriggled until comfortable, producing a groan from the body behind him. "And how would you know whether I was thinking or not? I could have been fantasizing about creative ways to wake you as far as you know."

"You scrunch your nose when you're thinking serious or unpleasant thoughts. Are you going to tell me that a fantasy involving me is unpleasant?" Tom's voice was slurred and drowsy, and Harry wondered if a fully awake Tom would have revealed that he knew what Harry's facial expressions meant.

Harry turned in the lax grip and took in the pillow that was clamped over Tom's head, giggling internally at the thought of his Death Eaters knowing what a child he was when he woke up. Harry dipped his head and trailed his tongue across one collarbone, arching lazily in a path towards the elegant, pale neck. It had been several days since he'd fed, and if he trusted himself to do so he would have loved to have tasted his bed partner in that moment. He had a scent and taste utterly unique to him, and Harry looked forward to finding out what flavor he would be.

Harry sucked at the soft skin of Tom's neck teasingly, ignoring the groggy complaints from under the pillow. "Potter, stop that this instant, you insatiable brat…"

"Feeling old, my dear Tom?" Harry cooed as he continued peppering Tom's neck and chest with attention, kicking his leg over the man to straddle him.

"_Yes_," was hissed back emphatically, the pillow lifting up to expose tousled dark hair and glaring crimson eyes. "I do not have the energy nor the motivation to keep up with you this early in the morning. Now let me sleep another hour!"

Harry snickered against the gooseflesh he was creating on Tom's stomach. "You are such a whiner in the mornings." Harry moved steadily down, green eyes still locked on narrowed red. "If you stop complaining, you won't have to do anything but lie there…"

A long-fingered hand slid into the hair behind his ear and gripped it hard, yanking him up into a deep kiss. Harry purred in the back of his throat in contentment as they laid skin to skin and a hand wandered down his back, letting the man assert his thoughts on who would be doing what. A snicker echoed through Harry's mind. With men like Tom, that would work every time.

* * *

Harry panted against Tom's neck, refusing to move even to alleviate his weight from the other man. If Tom wanted him moved, he'd move him. He was comfortable where he was, thank you very much.

Tom groaned beneath him, weakly pushing at Harry's shoulders. "Bloody hell, Potter."

"Only as young as you feel, Tom," Harry said with a grin. "And you're currently feeling, what, Dumbledore's age?"

A grunt. "Never mention Dumbledore while nude. Ever."

"Yes, I suppose it is a bit creepy, isn't it?" Harry lifted himself slowly, his back popping as he rolled to the side. "Well, good morning, Tom, what are your plans for the day?"

Tom stretched languidly and threw his feet off the side of the bed, affording Harry a nice view of the man's back as he reached for his discarded pants and began pulling them on. "The usual. I have too much paperwork to catch up on." He scowled darkly.

"I feel for you," Harry said with a grimace, staring at the ceiling in an effort not to get up. "It's really too bad you aren't coming to Narcissa's party tonight…"

"I'm not much for social events," Tom said. "Besides, I'm a tad conspicuous."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Well, you aren't looking so conspicuous like that." Harry raked his eyes down the man's exposed torso.

Tom turned with a smirk as he pulled a clean shirt on over his shoulders. "It's good to be appreciated."

Harry scowled at him and rose from the bed, smirking back at the Dark Lord as he paused in buttoning his shirt to stare hungrily. Harry lifted up his clothes with a grimace and spelled them clean before pulling them on. "I must concur."

"Cheeky little…" Tom broke off as he stuffed the ends of his shirt into his trousers and grabbed his robes. "Anyway, you backchatting little imp, though I am more apt to blend into society in this form, my eyes are rather… unique, and it would only take one person noticing for a riot to be raised. Not to mention my complete inability to listen to stupidity without using the Cruciatus… well, I imagine Lucius and Narcissa would not appreciate me outing them entirely by torturing their guests."

Harry couldn't help but snicker. "You have a point." He stalked closer to the man who was smoothing his clothing, grabbing him by the front of the robes and pulling him down to his level. Harry hated being short, and Tom was exceptionally tall. "Would have been nice to have someone to sneak away with, though… I hate these kinds of things."

Crimson eyes narrowed and without a pause Voldemort stood connected to the robes. "I have by no means alleged that this would be anything more than a singular event, Potter, and you would do well to remember that."

Harry barely managed not to wince when the barb hit home, the tightening of his lips the only indication he did not agree entirely. It was far from the worst thing Voldemort could say, he knew, but it didn't keep the comment from smarting. He had been surprised when Tom had merely grabbed him around the waist during their postcoital satisfaction and muttered a goodnight, but had been more than happy to oblige the man by staying. He had expected after the rather cruel remark Tom had made at the beginning to merely be thrown from the bed at the first opportunity. So Harry supposed he should be counting his blessings in this… yet he couldn't manage to totally ignore the disappointed pang.

He raised an eyebrow as a staring contest commenced between them, his hand still clenching a handful of the material covering Voldemort's chest. He found himself strangely unaffected by the menacing façade that had given him pause weeks ago. He doubted he would be able to find it attractive, but he felt none of the repulsion he had thought he would in the situation he found himself in.

The smirk that tilted his lips must have thrown the older man off, because his eyes widened minutely and he put up no resistance as Harry yanked him down into a brutal parody of a kiss. Harry's tongue flicked against where lips should have been, eyes connected with crimson. "And when have I ever listened to a word you said, Tom?" Harry murmured against the lipless mouth before releasing him and stepping back, raking his eyes up and down. "Why, of all the skills you seem to possess, did I get Parseltongue? It's an interesting skill and all, but I think being Metamorphmagi would have come much more in handy."

Voldemort glared heatedly but didn't press the previous subject, straightening and rolling his eyes. "Because I wasn't born with the ability. It was, in fact, one of the first rituals I underwent out of Hogwarts. I was too well known as the Head Boy and as the halfblood Riddle… I needed to distance myself from the notoriety I had in order to pursue my goals."

"There's a ritual for that?" Harry said with interest.

"It requires draining a Metamorphmagus entirely of blood on a dais and leaving their bloodless body to decompose in the elements. The maggots that feed on the corpse then must be ground into…"

"Ugh, sorry I asked, " Harry said with a moue of disgust. "Really, no need to go on."

Voldemort snickered and turned towards the door. "Unlike you, I have work to do. Either come and assist me or find some other way to make yourself useful."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Git."

* * *

Voldemort paused in the missive he was writing and let out an uncharacteristic sigh, running a long-fingered hand over his hairless head. Potter had gone running off with the excuse that the needed to get sustenance in before the Ball that night at the Malfoys'. He didn't doubt the young Vampire's sincerity, and in fact was rather glad to get some space.

Harry Potter. Bane of his existence for a decade, unexpected partner, and now suddenly his lover. How in the seven layers of hell had that happened? No matter how he tried, Voldemort seemed unable to reconcile the facts. He had slept with Harry Potter. Slept with… well, saying it over and over in his mind wasn't helping anything.

He hated how weak the boy made him. He hated how utterly entranced he was by the casual seductiveness Potter possessed, the easy way he had fallen asleep with the younger man in his bed. He hadn't slept in the company of another since he was barely out of his teens; when you had a life like he did, you could never be too careful. Yet he had easily fallen into slumber with the warm figure pressed against him, his mind not even beginning to think of him as a threat.

Why? Why did he let Potter get under his skin?

He hated how he had _noticed_ the boy in the last months, he hated how often bright green eyes occupied his thoughts. He hated how the expression on Harry's face as he'd Apparated in and seen him had made his chest tighten. He hated that he was letting the boy _matter_ to him.

This had to stop.

He pushed and Potter pulled, he ran and the brat had the audacity to follow. What would it take to sever this attachment without losing him the war?

Why did the mere thought feel like ice down his back?

* * *

Harry sunk his teeth into his victim with a mental sigh of relief, the blood managing to calm his serrated emotions. He had known better than to go so long without feeding, but he had allowed his own laziness to keep him within the extensive wards of Malfoy Manor. It was dangerous, toying with his vampirism as he did, and it was more than likely to bite him in the backside sooner or later.

He tossed the muggle aside, running his tongue over his lips and teeth to clear them of blood. He found taking muggles to be particularly degrading, but it was one of the things necessary when he was forced to hunt in a small town like Great Hangleton. He hadn't dared to hunt too close to their base of operations, and this was the next closest town.

With a flourishing wave of his wand, the corpse became a replica of a Styrofoam cup and blended in with the trash-littered alleyway. It was for the best, though crude, and Harry couldn't bring himself to give a damn about some muggle who had been too curious for their own good.

Fed and feeling much more in control of himself, Harry made to Apparate back to Riddle Manor when alarm bells went off in his head -- and not the figurative kind. He cursed and yanked back his sleeve to expose his snake band and tapped it quickly, leaving Tom a quick message of his whereabouts.

Harry glanced around to be sure he was alone before Disapparating, landing himself in the Forbidden Forest on the closest area to the school doors. He pulled out his invisibility cloak and enlarged it quickly, throwing it over his shoulders and darting towards the school. The wards were still sounding, but the secondary set he had placed to alert him of Legilimency being used had yet to go off. He didn't know what he could do -- he couldn't replace the clone, because getting to close to it would cause it to malfunction and he hadn't had time to Revert, regardless. He could only hope to find out why Dumbledore was near it and distract the old man.

And then the bells in his mind stopped chiming. The old man had left the Blood Clone's general vicinity. Harry sighed in relief as he entered the school, not bothering to keep to the walls. It was only a short walk later when he ran across his surest source for information, smirking as he shot out and grabbed the man. He made sure to pin down his wand arm and placed an invisible hand over the man's mouth, yanking him as close as possible to hiss in his ear, "It's me, Severus, stop struggling and go into that classroom."

The man scowled darkly but complied, black eyes narrowed and darting to both sides suspiciously. Only when they were both inside and silencing charms placed on the room did Harry pull off the cloak. He glared away the acerbic remark sure to come out of the man and started immediately. "I need to know why Dumbledore was near my clone."

Snape straightened and his scowl turned blank. "The Granger chit's family was killed last night."

"Hermione?" Harry asked quickly. "What about her, is she alright?"

"Traumatized and mourning, but nothing serious. She somehow managed to escape all injury."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "How is that? Who attacked them? I know for a fact that Tom didn't order anything of the sort. Could it have been someone acting on their own? And why would they kill her muggle parents and leave her alive, when she is the friend of the 'Boy-Who-Lived'?"

Severus rolled his eyes and bit out in a strange tone. "Not everything is about you, Potter. There is an investigation going on, but it seems muggle methods of torture were used. It is, at this point, being called a crime by a muggle killer."

Harry didn't believe that for a minute, but there was nothing else that made sense. However, if he found out a Death Eater had, in fact, worked on their own… Harry would have their head. He nodded to Severus. "Will there be any reason for Dumbledore to approach my clone again?"

"Not that I am aware of. I believe he was merely ascertaining that 'you' would not, in fact, make a Gryffindor idiot out of yourself and charge off seeking revenge. He will be busy with the Order over the next several days because of this."

"And Hermione?"

"Granger should be fine. She had some surface injuries and was unconscious when found, but nothing even remotely threatening."

"Right then. Would you tell Dante to keep an eye on her for me?"

Snape bowed his head. "As you wish, my lord."

Black eyes moved up to meet green, and Harry's lips tightened. "You're creeping me out with this whole listening to me thing. Is there any reason you've decided to suddenly be deferential? It is very unlike you."

Severus sneered and turned his head away, greasy hair hiding all but his prominent nose. His voice, however, was unlike Harry had ever heard it. Though clipped, it was soft. "Who am I to continuously work against the flow, Potter? You obviously have the ability to inspire loyalty and esteem in all those around you… there must be a reason for that. And so I will discontinue working actively to challenge you, if only to make it easier on myself."

Harry cracked a smile that Snape couldn't see, but could surely be heard in his voice. "So Slytherin, Severus. And here I was wondering over the years if you had been missorted. You seemed to have far too much of that Gryffindor brashness and courage."

The man rolled his eyes and raised an eyebrow at him. "And I thank Salazar every day that you talked the hat out of putting you in Slytherin."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Dumbledore told you that, hmm? Well, I should be going… I should be helping Narcissa set up the last details for the Ball tonight. Keep an eye on things here, for me, would you?"

"As you wish, my lord."

"This will take some getting used to, I think."

"You? Think? I hope not, Potter, or we will all surely be doomed," he snarked, lifting his lip.

Harry gave a familiar smirk. "Much better. Ta-ta, Severus."

* * *

Severus stayed in that room for long minutes after the vampire had left, a blank look on his face and his hands clenched at his sides. He doubted he would ever like the boy, but in those last moments, he couldn't help the tightening in his chest.

Severus impatiently yanked a hand through his hair and set out of the room. Reminiscences were useless. He assured himself this was not giving in, but merely reinstating his vow to himself to keep watch over Lily's child. He found it much easier when the boy was in his older form… he looked much less like James at all. But still with those eyes…

As Severus left the room, he mused that it was strange that he had never really heard the boy laugh before that day.

Yet another thing he had gotten from his mother.

* * *

Elsewhere in the castle, Albus Dumbledore entered his office, hand clenched around his prize. It had been terribly easy to get what he had needed from young Harry, but then, what had he really expected? The boy was kept untrained for a reason, after all, and it had everything to do with keeping him under Albus's thumb. It wouldn't do for the boy to become too aware of the things around him, after all.

He would train the boy himself once he had graduated, once he could keep the boy dependent on him enough to allow growth. As of now, the boy had too much freedom and opinion in him, too many opportunities. Once Harry had completed Hogwarts, however, he would _need_ Albus to help him, need him to show him the best way to go and what to do.

But recently, the boy had been rebellious. He no longer looked up to Albus with that same reverent air, no longer came to him with his thoughts. The boy was distancing himself, and Albus was worried about him. An uncontrollable weapon, after all, was useless.

He worried the boy would follow in Tom's shoes, using Dark Arts to improve himself before Albus could show him the correct path. Already the boy had managed to go from barely managing in his studies to effortlessly topping the class. Had be undergone one of the many Dark rituals that supposedly gave great intelligence and mental acumen? There seemed little other explanation for the sudden incline in his intelligence.

And now this strange situation with the Grangers. As the parents were only muggles, it wasn't a loss to the war and wouldn't normally be his concern, but it raised more questions. Hermione Granger was, after all, one of Harry's closest friends, and yet she had somehow managed to escape unharmed? Her wand had shown nothing but the most innocuous of spells, but at the same time the situation was terribly suspicious. She apparently had no memory of anyone entering the house. It could, of course, be explained by the girl being knocked out before the attack began, but it could also be a sign that the young Miss Granger was dabbling in the Dark Arts along with her friend.

Albus pulled out a vial from behind his desk and placed the hair he had procured from young Harry into it. It was a simple test, though perhaps more complicated than it needed to be. But it would tell him unequivocally whether his young charge was anything less then human. Dark Arts stripped away at the soul, and therefore also at humanity. Polyjuice was perhaps a rather complicated means of finding out, but it was certainly the most instant way he had on hand. Polyjuice, after all, was only for human transformation. Even the slightest shred of creature blood or Dark Arts use would cause the potion to fail quite spectacularly.

Albus downed the potion with a grimace and summoned a mirror to study his new appearance once the change had settled. Incontrovertibly human.

This was good, but it only meant there was quite possibly something more devious afoot. Albus would have to keep a close eye on young Harry.

The fate of the Wizarding world depended on it.

* * *

The Minister of Magic had disgustingly sweaty hands. Harry shuddered. He put on a polite face as the man greeted him and rambled on about one thing or another; as an honored guest of the Malfoys, he was automatically afforded some degree of respect, even if these people knew nothing about who he was. He had been introduced by the doorman as a relation to Lucius and had been set upon immediately by simpering fools, much to his chagrin. Mylläkkä was known now and thought of with fear, but his appearance was still unknown. And so, for the night he was Rhet Yaptorr, distant relative of the Malfoys from the Continent. He found it terribly amusing that he was using Voldemort's own trick, though his name didn't come with any fancy meanings like 'flight of death'.

He finally managed to escape the maddening Minister and made his way towards where Narcissa and Lucius stood greeting the partygoers, all polite masks and proud bearing. Harry was amused. He slid up to Narcissa during a lull in genuflecting guests and bowed low over her teasingly proffered hand, kissing the inside of her wrist with a roguish grin. "Ah, the most beautiful lady in the mortal realm. Might I have this dance?"

Lucius' eye twitched in an urge not to roll them and Harry gave him a smile as well. "Oh Pretty, don't be insulted… do you want a dance with me next?"

"I think I will survive without."

"Pity," Harry crooned, taking Narcissa's hand and pulling her onto the dance floor. "Ah, well, we'll have more fun without him anyway, won't we my lady?"

Narcissa's lips twitched into a smile. "Why would we want that boring man bothering us anyway?"

"Well, he can be rather entertaining…" They shared a sly look, and Harry was once again thankful for Narcissa's easy humor. "But alas! Were it not that you were the Hostess of this gala, I would whisk you away to the shadows and we could have some real fun…" he twirled her with a grin.

"You think you are such a charmer, _Rhet_, but it is good that I know you better than that. You'd much rather be whisking away my dear husband--"

"But he is my cousin!" he said with a laugh.

"--than I." She didn't even bother acknowledging his interruption. "Or perhaps you would rather be spiriting away whomever left those marks on your neck…"

Harry couldn't help the tinge of pink that crept up his neck. "Ah, erm, yes, there's always him."

Narcissa's voice was sly but very quiet as to be sure no one would overhear. "I was under the impression that you were working with my lord to catch him up on all he's missed since he was away."

Harry coughed and twirled her rapidly, looking away. "Yes, well…" Narcissa dropped the subject as the song came to an end and Harry bowed over her hand once more. "I thank you for the dance Lady Malfoy."

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "You're not getting off that easily, you know."

"I know, I know…" Harry grinned and darted away into the crowd, making his way towards the magically maintained drink bar.

"Oh gods, _you_…"

Harry plopped down on a seat beside the groaning youngest Malfoy, shooting him a grin. "Yes, me. Get used to it Little Pretty."

"I swear Po--"

"_Rhet!_" Harry hissed with a dark look.

"Look, Rhet, I don't understand why you are so intent on ruining my mood all the time…"

"Do shut up, Malfoy," Harry cut in, glaring, his voice nearly inaudible even thought here was no one near to them. "I've been putting up with your impudence far more than I should. You are allowed to have your own opinions, and I can even put up with your mouth, but you _will_ learn that there is a time and place for it. If you ever hope to be a Death Eater, you would be held under the Cruciatus for even looking at Voldemort wrong, and by proxy me when in his presence. Now, learn to curb your tongue, _Draco_."

The youngest Malfoy was pale but nodded, "I apologize. But this takes getting used to."

"I understand, and you have the rest of the holidays to get over it… but in public, use your damned intelligence and don't you _dare_ insult me."

Another nod. "Yes, my lord."

"Very good."

The conversation turned over to the next term and things to expect from an innocuous standpoint, sure that to any listening ears it was merely Draco complaining about his schoolmates. Harry took it in stride and answered the questions as well as he could in the company they were in, his eyes constantly moving over the crowds.

His eyes happened to fall upon the ballroom doors as they opened, and his breathing hitched as a grin spread over his lips. "Good Merlin…"

Draco cut off in the middle of a tirade about 'the Weasel' and looked to where Harry was looking, a confused furrow of his brow making itself known. "Who is that?"

The doorman's posture straightened as the figure gave their name, a look of fear clouding his face even as he bowed and his magically-enhanced voice rang out, "Introducing the Marquis Valerian!"

Harry's grin didn't fade even as Draco gasped out a disbelieving 'Bloody hell' from his side. Vampires were feared automatically by society, but the title of the Vampire Marquis had held respect even to wizards. It was a respect borne more of fear than any real admiration, but effective nonetheless. No matter the speciesism of the Wizarding world, even the Minister wouldn't dare stand against the Vampire Marquis. They wouldn't be allowing him any political input, of course, but interealm relations were kept up through stiff respect and nicities.

Harry ignored Malfoy entirely and stood, making his way towards the regal figure with a smile he couldn't hope to smother. Most of the room was too terrified to approach him so Harry was able to cut through them easily as they went back to what they were doing, casting fearful and intrigued glances towards the imposing Vampire Lord. The man looked as he always had, long inky hair unbound and a dry smile curving his lips just enough for a fang to peek through. It amused Valerian terribly to intimidate 'the silly mortal hoi polloi'.

Harry stopped directly in front of the man, who looked him over with an amused glint. "You've grown up well, pet."

Harry was mildly disappointed that this was not his own Valerian, but was still inordinately pleased to see the man. He had, after all, been a constant in his life for a decade; the last months had been bizarre without his flamboyant presence. "And you haven't changed at all, Val." Harry smirked and wished he could simply latch onto the man, but knew that their present surroundings deemed it inappropriate.

Valerian raised one elbow and bowed slightly. "Shall we go somewhere more appropriate to speak, pet?"

"I think that first I should introduce you to the hosts of the ball you felt the need to crash, but after that I am sure we can go somewhere to speak." He took the man's arm and pulled him towards an interestedly watching Lucius and Narcissa, Lucius's posture even straighter than usual. Harry bit his tongue not to snicker at Lucius' power lust, throwing a genuine smile to Valerian. "I didn't think I'd see you at all until this mess was over with… and now I am wondering how often your 'important business' was you checking up me."

Valerian laughed as the crowd parted before them. "I can't say for sure, but time will tell, will it not?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Vague prat."

"Goodness, pet, do I always allow you to talk to me in such a way? Such crass for a childe…"

Harry couldn't help but chuckle as he threw the older Vampire a wink. "Don't worry, you never cease complaining."

They reached the couple and Harry bowed with a flourish. "Pretty, Narcissa, may I present to you Valerian."

Golden eyes rolled skyward. "I really must remember to try harder to instill elegance in you…"

Lucius tipped his head gracefully. "It is an honor to meet you, sir Marquis. We welcome you to our home."

"Please, call me Valerian," he purred, giving both blonds a smile. "It is a pleasure to meet you both. I am glad to see someone taking care of dear Mylläkkä…"

"I don't need to be taken care of," Harry said with a scowl.

"Shush, pet, we adults are talking…"

Harry growled as Lucius let out a surprised laugh, quickly stifling it as Harry glared at him before turning it on Valerian. "I wish you wouldn't call me that…"

Lucius looked amused though he was attempting to mask it. "I certainly see where you picked up your attitude from…"

"Shush, Pretty…" Harry broke off as he realized just how like Valerian he really was and groaned. "I've become my own worst nightmare. That's enough. I'm taking Valerian up to my room now, we have catching up to do. Drinks once the guests have gone home?"

Narcissa halted whatever comeback Lucius might have had with a hand on his arm. "Of course, dear. We'll see you in a bit."

Harry grinned at her and began tugging on the golden eyed man's arm. "Come on, Val, before you manage to embarrass me more…"

Valerian let out a loud chuckle as he was forcibly dragged from the room, leaving half the hall staring after them.

* * *

Revised: 3/20/09

* * *


	23. Cognizance

Disclaimer: I does not own. I does not want to. Would be shite if I owned. XD

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

The italicized things in parentheses are the thoughts Tom pretends he doesn't have/ignores. Sorry if its confusing or terribly out of character, but I needed something a bit different.

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Cognizance // knowledge or awareness of something_

* * *

Voldemort was surprised by the loud laughter down the hall, the voice of his once-nemesis reverberating in a far too cheerful manner. He hadn't expected the boy back for a few days yet, though he couldn't honestly say he was disappointed. Potter was obviously in an exceptionally good mood; it was rare for him to feel relaxed enough to laugh.

Voldemort chided himself for going down the familiar path to contemplating Potter, but it seemed he was unable to resist. Years of obsession had planted a firm area of his mind dedicated to the younger man, and now that their relationship was… amicable, he supposed, was an acceptable description… it was merely filled with tidbits of information he had gleaned from their many late-night conversations. Much to his vexation, his mind seemed to latch on to every bit of gen and file it away, no matter how banal the subject matter.

Harry's (_was he Harry now?_) favorite color was actually a pale blue, though you wouldn't know it by his wardrobe. His second was a dark crimson red, far too Gryffindor for Voldemort's liking.

He preferred to sleep on his stomach, though Voldemort's mind now assimilated that the boy was perfectly content to sleep on his side while sharing a bed in close quarters (_it had taken Tom himself moving to the other side of the bed to escape the boy, and convincing himself to move away from the cloying warmth had taken almost an hour, only to be broken come morning_).

Despite his preference, Harry still thought many women were attractive, even in a sexual manner. He just simply didn't _want _to sleep with them (_damn good thing that was; Tom had enough things to be annoyed about to begin with_).

Harry made rather piteous noises in the back of his throat when Voldemort would touch on his less than stellar past, and seemed quick to defend the young Tom Riddle's actions… even when Voldemort himself believed no vindication was needed (_after all, he knew damn well the things he had done, and he would not take back a single death for anything. They were his choices and he refused to waste his life on the petty regrets that so many fell victim to_).

When thinking or speaking too heavily, the younger man's nose would scrunch up… if things became too grave, he began to nibble his thumbnail. Somehow, Harry didn't seem to notice this (_though Voldemort was disgustingly aware of how he had blurted it in his drowsy state_).

For all his false bravado, Harry still had many issues with his confidence, likely a combination of his upbringing and the fluctuating viewpoints of the Wizarding world in his teens. To make up for this, Harry hardly ever truly smiled or laughed, choosing to project a sly and roguish personality to hide his own insecurities (_except when he was with Voldemort… it seemed their similarities lent Harry the ability to be open_).

But there it was again… that laugh. Rich and delighted, adding depth to the dreary manse that was totally unnatural. Voldemort scowled towards the door and ignored the twinge in his chest as he wondered exactly what had gotten Potter into such a good mood. He hadn't been nearly so happy the day before when he had been forced to leave so quickly, although there had been a… dimension to his eyes that Voldemort didn't dare to try and name.

When the door swung open, a fiercely hot sensation seized his chest as the boy practically bounded into the room, one of his hands interlaced with that of another figure behind him. The man held himself like a king, golden eyes immediately scrutinizing Voldemort before Potter had even had time to give his usual smile of greeting.

His first instinct was to seize Potter by the waist and pull him over his desk into his lap, hissing at the tall, elegant man that dared to be touching what was _his_… and then Voldemort realized just what he was thinking and shrunk away mentally, sealing off his emotions in the most concrete fashion he knew. He raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Back so soon, Potter?"

Harry waved his hand, finally dropping the connection with the man behind him and leaning over Voldemort's desk. "I've brought someone for you to meet; I think you'll be terribly happy with me."

Voldemort didn't see how that would be. The adoring way Potter kept throwing glances at the other man raised his hackles, and he had the most immature notion to change forms and see if he could garner the same attention. It was one of the most petty thoughts he had had in a long time and it sickened him, but that knowledge did nothing to stop the thought from being formed. Voldemort clenched his teeth and waved a hand, not trusting himself to retort at the moment.

"This, my dearest Tom, is the Marquis Valerian… I believe that you were rather adamant in saying that an alliance with him would help the war? Well, we've got his support for as long as we need him." Harry was grinning, leaning closer in the manner of an excited child.

For the moment, his animosity towards the vampire vanished and he let out a rather discomfiting smile. "Pleasure to meet you, sir Marquis. I have heard much of you."

"And I of you, Lord Voldemort," Valerian said. "Please, call me Valerian."

Voldemort watched as the vampire sat where Potter usually did, the boy too happily oblivious to mind that his seat had been usurped. The hot sensation again clutched at Voldemort's chest as he realized this was the happiest he had ever seen the young man. What was it about this Valerian that made Har-- Potter, damnit! -- so delighted?

Voldemort made to speak to return the courtesy, but Potter cut him off by scooting himself onto Voldemort's desk with a grin. "Just call him Tom, Val."

Voldemort raised his wand with a scowl. "Repeat that, Potter. I dare you."

Harry's smile was amused, his eyes holding a strange cast when they met crimson. "Val isn't someone you have to be the Dark Lord around, Tom. He will never see you as above him and you know this already. He's so much older than us that we're like toddlers to him. And, well, I spend several hours last night speaking of you to him. So why not attempt being yourself for ten minutes, hmm?"

Voldemort's eyes narrowed to slits and he jammed his yew wand under Harry's chin, ignoring the raised eyebrows of their guest. Potter's glare was murderous but Voldemort ignored it easily. "I have put up with many things from you, Potter, and I am quite sure I will continue to. But do not assume that because _you_ are able to get away with the disrespect you show that I will ever be anything less then the Dark Lord. No matter your disillusion, I am no longer Tom Riddle no matter the form I take. Now, care to change your suggestion?"

Potter growled, lip lifting into a snarl. Voldemort had no time to react before Potter's own wand, the strange one that was not the brother to his own, was pressed into the hollow of his throat. "And you, _Tom_, need to realize that intimidation does nothing to affect me. I have remained respectful to you in front of the Death Eaters, but I will not be cowed into submission."

"You will show me respect in front of others no matter their standing!"

"This is just Val! He is one of my closest companions!"

"He is the Vampire Marquis!" Voldemort roared, standing from his seat and leaning closer to the younger man, Potter's nose nearly brushing the flat plane where his own should have been. "I will not be made a fool in front of anyone!"

"No one's making you into a fool but yourself, you old git!"

"Stupid Gryffindor child!"

"Slimy snake bastard!"

"Oh, young love!" Valerian crooned from behind them, snapping both men's attention to him as he clapped his hands with a wide grin. "I knew you spoke of him fondly, Mylläkkä, but I had no idea of how adorable you two were!"

Both of them bared their teeth at the ancient Vampire. "Keep out of this!" they hissed in unison before turning on the other and glaring heatedly.

Valerian laughed. "So sweet…"

"You have a skewed perception, sir, of what is sweet," Voldemort growled, shifting away from Potter and refusing to acknowledge the embarrassment that was flooding him. He had never been one to blush and was suddenly glad for it. "But I digress. There are more important things."

Once Voldemort had sat back down, Potter's wand lowered and he stared away from both of them, obviously reigning in his temper as a dull flush of red crept up his neck. Voldemort pointedly refused to look towards him.

Valerian continued grinning from his seat, golden eyes flicking back and forth between them. The two amused him greatly and he found that no matter their response, there was one major thing they had not done…

Deny it.

* * *

Harry sighed as Valerian and Voldemort settled the details to their alliance, Valerian himself being unable to stay but donating several dozen soldiers to their cause. Seventeen Vampires, nine Dark Elves, four dwarves, fourteen werewolves, and seven sirens were certain, and Valerian promised to send along any volunteers from amongst the other species within Sceaduwe. Voldemort was obviously thrilled, crimson eyes bright and a quirk to his lips that he was unable to suppress. Harry, too, was very thankful, though he knew that Valerian could actually spare double the number he was promising.

"I will also send one of my Kenraali to assist you in military planning and to keep my people in line; they will defer to Mylläkkä here as my heir, but even he would have trouble commanding them."

Harry's eyebrows rose unnoticed in response. He had been trying to recall everything that had happened around his first Christmas in Sceaduwe, though he had not been very deep in the know so early in his tenure. However, he did recall a Dark Elf named Emele who had gone on a 'mission' from Valerian in his first year there. She had left him discomfited at first with her pitch black skin and hair and the nearly glowing crimson vines that tattooed her skin in a symbol of her elemental affiliation. He had been distinctly uneasy whenever she so much as entered a room and had avoided her gaze like the plague.

He had, however, grown used to the different immortals that inhabited the Citadel, even the disconcerting Dark Elves. The werewolves had been more aggressive and fierce than his solitary acquaintance with Remus had led him to believe, but pleasant enough… barring the dignitaries that had made fun of him all those years ago for his affected moniker. Harry still held a grudge against them. He had never had much contact with the dwarves, feeling unable to reconcile their childlike appearance with a wise, long-lived race. It was the same with the sirens; they were rather vicious away from their prey and their stories were usually rather gruesome. Despite all that, he had found all of them interesting and looked forward to the renewed contact.

Harry realized he must have been lost in his thoughts for longer than he'd expected, because Valerian was standing and clasping Voldemort's skeletal hand. Harry felt an odd tranquility flow through him as he watched the two powerful men go through the standard oaths of alliance, the purple strands of fire lashing out to seal the agreement. But he was being sentimental; it was unnecessary in that moment and would only bring him more confusion. He smiled at the two, still avoiding Voldemort's eye.

"Will you be returning with me to Malfoy Manor, pet?" Valerian asked, his stance casual. "There is much still that I do not know."

Harry was tempted. Oh, how he was tempted. He wanted to escape Voldemort's crimson gaze more in that moment than he had in years. But he was not a coward; like it or not, he was a Gryffindor and proud of it. The tension that laid thick and ignored between them needed to be gone if they were to work together. Their brief squabble proved that. There was so much more underlying their interactions than any mere annoyance.

Harry drew himself up and sighed, smiling at his mentor. "I'll be back over there tonight or tomorrow, Val. I have some things I need to clear up with Tom before I relax."

The smirk the eldest got was wicked. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, pet."

Voldemort rolled his eyes.

Harry gave a weak grin. "Well then, I'll be sure not to be silent for even a single moment. Happy?"

Valerian cuffed him upside the head before the shadows collected at his feet. He threw his charge a wink. "Do that while nude and you're on your way to greatness."

His laugh echoed in the study even as he disappeared, leaving Harry to studiously avoid his partner's eye. It was alright, though, because even as he focused on anything _but_ Voldemort, Voldemort studied his every move.

* * *

Hope you all have read the one-shot parody HPLV I put out in thanks for the 1,000 reviews. :) If not, you should, it's for you all after all! It's obviously in my profile. _Denouement_.

Revised: 3/20/09


	24. Cavil

Disclaimer: I does not own. I does not want to. Would be shite if I owned. XD

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

Don't be too disappointed with Harry's animagus form, lol, I did it for a reason. Explained in the ending A/N.

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Cavil // an evasion of the point of an argument by raising irrelevant distinctions or objections_

* * *

"So," Harry said eventually, "what crawled up your arse and died?"

Harry could hear Voldemort grind his teeth in annoyance. "Funny, Potter."

"What? It's an honest question."

Voldemort waved a hand and leaned forward, steepling his fingers and narrowing his eyes. "I have many better things to do than sit here and listen to your annoying quips. You stayed because you believe we have things to discuss, so speak."

"And I have better things to do than listen to you act like you're Merlin's ruddy ballsack." Harry sneered at the reptilian man. "But you don't see me bitching about it."

Voldemort's disposition had been bad enough since Harry had arrived an hour before, and Harry could tell he was steadily approaching the end of his rope. It was really too bad for the Dark Lord that making him lose control was exactly what Harry was trying to do. "Potter, get out of my study right now before I hit you with the most painful curse I can think of."

Harry smirked and pushed himself off Voldemort's long desk, stretching his arms over his head casually. "No, don't think I will, Tom. You started with your terrible attitude the second I walked in the door and haven't stopped since, and I want to know why."

"You have no right to question me," Voldemort hissed at him in a low tone, the sibilance indicative of his affected form's forked tongue becoming pronounced. Inanely, Harry's mind entertained thoughts of whether, as a Metamorphmagus, Voldemort's natural form could have the tongue as well. It was an interesting thought, but irrelevant to the current situation and was quickly pushed into the back of Harry's mind.

"As your partner in this blasted war, I have every right!"

"_Crucio!_"

Harry had been ready for the curse and flung himself to the side just in time, the sickly yellow light barely missing his shoulder. Harry rolled as he hit the ground and pointed his Blackthorn wand at Voldemort. "_Exosso_!"

Voldemort threw up a shield at the last second that absorbed the Bone Dissolving curse, luckily for Voldemort. The curse had been aimed at his head, after all. He hissed out an incantation of nonsense words in Parseltongue, and Harry was not stupid enough to sit back and let whatever the orange jet of light was hit him.

He threw up a reflecting shield and raised himself into a crouch, ready to somersault out of the way should the spell be one of those that was unhindered by magical shields. The spell bounced off and Voldemort moved in the nick of time to dodge the rebounded curse.

Harry was already sick of this fight. They hadn't had a falling out this bad in months and Harry wasn't having any fun with it as he usually did, neatly rolling to his left to avoid Voldemort's rapidly fired Shattering hexes. Harry reached beneath his long hair and pulled out his dagger, catching the Dark Lord off guard as the unornamented blade sunk into the bicep of his wand arm.

Harry stood and brushed off his robes, darting forward to snatch Voldemort's fallen wand before its owner could snatch it up in his right hand. However, since Voldemort was capable of quite a bit of wandless magic, Harry didn't bother keeping the wand any more protected than tossing it over is shoulder. Without pausing long enough for the bleeding man to gain his bearings, Harry resorted to tackling the Dark Lord out of his chair, the arm managing to catch Harry's hip with bruising force as they tumbled onto the floor in a heap of limbs.

Harry's patience with the man was lost at this point, and he grabbed thin wrists and pressed them into the ground, panting a bit out of adrenaline. He regretted now that he had skived off so much on his training for the last few months, because his muscles were protesting the acrobatics. He glared down into Voldemort's furious eyes as he gathered both wrists into one hand and used the other to pull the short blade from his arm.

Harry nearly moaned as he licked the intoxicating blood from the blade, eyes never leaving Voldemort's. He had always thought the man's blood would be particularly complex if only for the amount of Dark magic he had delved into… but nothing could have prepared him. The Darkness was nearly tangible across his tongue, the sheer _power_ in it leaving him lightheaded. He was forced to place the blade aside before he went into a crazed state over it; it was too powerful. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, attempting to reassert his control over himself.

Harry hadn't been expecting the unconventional attack, and therefore did little other than melt when lips crushed into his own, a hand winding into his hair at the back of his neck to jerk him down flush against Tom's body. And it was Tom, as evidenced by the thin lips currently devouring his own. Harry didn't know what to think, really, only that for one reason or another Tom was kissing him ferociously and _damn_ but did it feel good.

The kiss was so intense that neither seemed even able to think of the need to breath through their noses until air became such an issue that they had to break apart, leaving Harry staring down into the serious face of Tom Riddle. He didn't move away and their lips still brushed as they shared a long silent moment, no longer caring that they were sprawled across the floor and injured from a duel.

Harry muttered a healing charm on the bloodied arm absently, suddenly feeling drained. "Why do we always do this, Tom?"

Tom was strangely expressionless, not lashing out as he normally did when Harry finally came down off his adrenaline. His right arm, the one that had not been injured, raised up and took a lock of long black hair between his fingers, rubbing it back and forth between them. "Perhaps it really would be impossible for us to both live in peace so long as the other survives. It seems neither of us can attain peace when the other is around."

Harry scowled. "I think the prophecy is a moot point. Don't tell me you're actually willing to let that codswallop rule your life? Oh wait, I forgot, you're the reason the prophecy matters to begin with!"

Tom scowled back, raising himself up on his elbows though making no move to get out of their position, "What did you expect me to do? A child born that could defeat me? Was I to leave such opposition?"

"_'And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal'_. Had you not bothered to rush into the situation like some Gryffindor and attack the Longbottoms or my family, you never would have had any opposition! If you hadn't cast the Killing Curse at my head, we wouldn't be here arguing about it!"

"I didn't know about that line of the prophecy, you idiot!"

"Yes, well, Slytherins are known for their cunning, are they not? Why not wait a few more years and attempt to retrieve the full prophecy for yourself before running headlong into your demise? I was a year old, Tom, I wasn't going to be any opposition for you anytime soon."

Tom paused and scowled. "Perhaps that is true, but what is the use of arguing over something already done?"

Harry sat up, knees to either side of Tom's waist, and crossed his arms over his chest. "You're the one who brought it up as if it has any relevance in our lives."

"Because we can't seem to get along for more than a day at a time!"

"So? Do we or do we not always figure things out in the end? All relationships…"

"Don't you dare refer to," Tom waved his hand with a scowl, "_this_ as a relationship."

"Any partnership is a relationship, Tom, though I would beg to differ about what _this_ is."

The two stared at one another, green and red clashing silently. This was a line Harry knew was better not to cross, but his mouth tended to work without consulting his mind first. Tom refused to even admit to having human emotions, let alone anything as intimate as Harry was suggesting. It was risky to even hint towards such a thing, let alone to state it so bluntly. Harry waited for the explosion.

It never came. Tom sighed and stretched out his arms, laying back onto the dirty floor and clenching his jaw silently. His dark hair was disordered around his head in such a way that Harry knew he would be livid if he saw it. Harry thought it fetching. He resisted the urge to reach down and run his fingers through it, which would effectively call attention to the mess it was. Harry also resisted the urge to press his lips to Tom's frowning ones, as he was lucky enough to have gotten away with the comment he had made; calling attention to the strange connection between them would only exacerbate the problem.

Harry shifted slightly, becoming all to aware of their position as his line of thought made its way for the gutter. All thoughts of prophecies and Trelawney began draining from his mind as he rethought his previous directive of not kissing Tom…

Harry's thoughts froze. Trelawney. Prophecies. Oh hell, he knew he'd been forgetting something.

"Erm, Tom?" Harry said with a nervous laugh. "I've just remembered something…"

"What did you forget, Potter?" Tom said slowly, raising himself up once more and glaring. The effect was somewhat muted by the disheveled hair, but Harry knew the other man was serious.

"There… there was another prophecy."

Tom jerked into a sitting position, dislodging Harry's seat and making him tumble across Tom's legs. "Another prophecy?" Tom hissed in a low voice, black rage creeping over his features. "And you only now felt it pertinent to inform me?"

"I honestly forgot… you left directly after Halloween and before we could meet and it totally slipped my mind in the meantime… I don't hold much stock in the damn things, anyway…"

"Tell me now, Potter." Each word was annunciated slowly, crimson eyes flashing.

Harry sighed and clenched his jaw. _"The end comes near, shadows stretching and consuming. Darkness will creep over hills and sea, until nothing but despair breeds under its depressive cover. The full moon will watch as its child is thrust to the fore. Not all aims will be realized, nor all plans be for naught. One final confrontation shall decide the victor, the Light and Dark vying for supremacy. Only the binding of the Two can ensure the world's survival, the Power the Dark Lord knows not must be realized. A defied prophecy shall tell the tale. The end comes near…_"

Had the situation been different, Harry might have laughed at the gobsmacked expression on Tom's face. As it was, any humor Harry might have felt was lost as Tom shoved him back off his legs and stood, brushing his robes with a look of controlled fury on his face. "Repeat it slowly, Potter," he growled, snatching up a parchment and quill, "and then get the hell out of my sight."

And Harry did. There was little left to say anyway, on any matter, at least with Tom's current mood. Once he had repeated it word for word, he stood from the dusty floor and inclined his head. "I'll be back, you know."

Once Harry had left the room entirely, Tom let his head fall into his hands, his soft snort echoing through the empty room. "Happy Christmas, Harry."

* * *

Harry sat contentedly next to an amused Narcissa as he watched Lucius and Valerian unsuccessfully hide their flirtation. Valerian had always been one to appreciate beauty and no one could ever call Lucius less than that. And Harry was all too aware of Lucius's power lust. When he had first noticed the obvious attraction, he had expected jealousy; Valerian, after all, had been his lover for nearly eight years, and Lucius a favored dalliance.

But he wasn't. He watched them with unrepentant mirth, whispering to Narcissa as one of them made a comment that bordered on spelling out their desires on paper and fanning it in front of the other's face. It amused both he and Narcissa, and made Draco pointedly ignore them all from the corner of the room where he was penning a letter. It was Yule, after all, and Narcissa had insisted they all spend time in the parlor.

"Really, you'd think they were teenaged girls," Narcissa groused for the seventh time. "Dancing around each other the way they are…"

Harry snickered behind his brandy. "I see your point, but it seems they are both playing coy for the night. How… corny."

"What's… _corny_… is that you could use that word. Banal, love, sounds much better."

"Am I offending your sense of propriety? Apologies…"

Narcissa failed to hide her laugh, earning her raised eyebrows from both the men across the room. She waved them off and narrowed her eyes at Harry. "You're lucky I've been drinking, love, because I'd never forgive you for making me laugh in public elsewise."

"Public?" Harry snorted, glancing around the room. "It is only your son and husband, Valerian, and me in the room besides you. How much have you had to drink if you think this is public?"

"But _Harry_, it's the Vampire Marquis! The power he possesses…"

"Are you going to attempt to get into Val's pants, too, then? Oh, or maybe a threesome? Merlin, that's actually kind of hot. Unfortunately, Valerian doesn't care much for women… though I'm sure a train could be arranged… I'd want to watch, of course…"

Narcissa's lightly flushed face darkened rapidly, wide blue eyes torn away from their view to stare at Harry. "I had no idea you were so _crude_! In the presence of a lady of my stature! I never!"

"But you love me regardless, don't you dear?"

Giving up on decorum, Narcissa snorted. "You'd like to think so, wouldn't you."

Harry laughed and patted her arm, reclining back in his seat and smiling over at the blonde. "You liked your Christmas gift well enough, I see."

Narcissa's hand moved to lay against the bracelet he had admittedly made last minute. He hadn't expected to get on with Narcissa as well as he had -- free from expectation and power plays, he could just lark about with the woman. She wasn't a minion or a potential ally… she was just a woman with a wicked sense of humor and far too little chance to use it. She was free of the perpetual stick-up-the-arse syndrome that both Lucius and Tom seemed to suffer from and was without the toffee-nosed attitude that Draco possessed. It was relaxing to spend time with her.

The bracelet had been a cliché idea coming from knowing very little of her, but it suited her. The circle of golden narcissi had been the most delicate metalwork he'd ever done, edges charmed to glimmer in any light. It went well with her coloring and he was pleased to see her wear it. Lucius' gift, a wyvern drink dispenser, was also displayed on an end table. He wasn't so sure whether that, though, was honest appreciation for the gift or just Lucius being obsequious.

"I do. I don't think I've gotten a gift handmade for me since Draco was a child. He used to make me the cutest cards and have his father enchant them…"

"Mother!"

Harry rolled his eyes at the indignant squawk. He should have known the boy was paying attention. It was an improvement, though, that he hadn't added himself to the conversation when Harry had been being lecherous. However, as it was Christmas, Harry didn't bother with a snide remark, he just smiled at his companion. "I'm glad it was well received, then. By next year, I suppose I'll know you well enough to give you something even better."

"You plan to be around this time next year, then?" she asked shrewdly, one pale eyebrow arching.

Harry merely lifted a shoulder in response and let her take that as she would. He wouldn't be making promises he wasn't sure he could keep, after all.

* * *

Valerian liked unexpected things. He loved surprises and unforeseen circumstances. He loved the astonishing and the bizarre, the things that didn't synchronize with the everyday world. After all, once you began thinking to count your age in centuries rather than years or even decades, it was very rare to find true joy in the world around you.

His Mylläkkä, the one currently in front of him, was one of those joys. His very existence hinged on an anomaly, on being the first and only person to survive the Killing Curse. It had caught Valerian's interest as soon as it had happened those years ago, and he had waited patiently for a chance to study this strange creature known as Harry Potter.

Reports had come in over the years of a small malnourished boy capable of astounding feats of magic. With each account he had grown more and more intrigued by the boy, more amazed at the feats he had been able to accomplish. He was truly a puzzle, one which Valerian took great joys in trying to pick apart. Since he had finally managed to get the boy under his wing only months ago, he had only become more and more interested in the secrets he hid.

And here was that boy before him, grown under his tutelage into a fierce and vibrant man, treading the line between mortality and immortality effortlessly. He had obviously taken to Valerian in the intervening years, as Valerian could see his own mannerisms in the boy from the way he moved to the way he treated others, and it warmed his long-dead heart to see it. He had never taken an heir, but somehow in the course of the next decade, he would delegate this boy into the position. The boy had told him so, and he could only agree with the decision.

He left the scrumptious part-Veela man that was apparently a subordinate of Harry's, sashaying his way to where the young man sat with the pretty blonde lady of the house. He bowed deeply and gave a roguish grin to the slightly flushed woman, the alcohol in her hand having had a slight effect no matter her nobility. "May I join your conversation, my lady Malfoy? I do not wish to impose."

The blonde smiled a bit too widely and nodded. "Of course, sir Marquis. We would be honored… wouldn't we, Harry?"

Harry snorted into his drink and peered through his fringe at Valerian. "Charmed."

The elder Vampire chuckled and conjured himself a seat, crossing his legs and settling comfortably. "I will be leaving tonight, pet."

"So soon?" Harry asked, sitting forward abruptly. "But you can just open a portal and jump back!"

Valerian gave a genuine, soft smile, a hand reaching out to tuck back the strands of hair that had escaped the younger man's ponytail. "I cannot interfere here, Mylläkkä. I am sorry. This is your battle. My title is more than just superfluous garble, you know. I am sworn to keep myself out of mortal affairs if they might effect the timeline… and this surely would. I will lend the support of my followers, but I myself must be gone for the coming events. I assume you know this by now, pet? The restriction the Fates have placed on me are heavy."

"You will come back?"

"As if I could leave you for long," Valerian winked and quickly fell back into his most comfortable role, eyes shining with mischief. "So, how did things go with your Voldemort?"

Harry grumbled and scowled. "That man is the most stubborn dolt of anyone I've ever known! And that includes you!"

Valerian laughed brightly, a grin spread over his lips. "I have every faith that you will figure it out, pet. I am going to retire for the night if my lady has no objections?"

The implications were clear, and Narcissa gracefully, despite her inebriation, inclined her head. "It was a pleasure to have you in our home, sir Marquis."

"Trust me, my lady Malfoy, the pleasure was all mine."

She laughed as Valerian turned towards her husband, an eyebrow rising in question at the stately man. Just as he swept from the room, he heard the younger vampire laughing. "How can you be so blasé about all this, Cissy? Honestly…"

The lady's laugh was clear and ringing. "Come now, love, haven't you ever heard of a pensieve?"

Valerian laughed, himself, on his way to the guest room they had graced him with, feeling more at ease there than he had felt in years. He saw himself returning to this place often.

* * *

Harry hated his Animagus form. When his tutor Nicolai had done the test to see if he was capable, Harry had been beyond thrilled to know that he would be able to become an animagus like his father and godfather. It had taken him nearly three years of work to be able to attempt the transformation, as he had had too many other studies congruent with Transfiguration to focus extra attention on it, but the day Dante and Nicolai had told him he was ready he had been nearly giddy. Then he had transformed. His good mood had been short lived.

He had imagined himself to be something fierce and wild… a panther maybe, or a wolf. Something befitting of how he saw himself. He had also dreamed of being a stag like his father in the back of his mind, a hope he had held from when he was thirteen and learned of his father's form. Hell, he would have appreciated an owl or a housecat more. He supposed the symbology was fitting enough, but that did little to assuage his annoyance with his form.

He was a spider. A bloody spider! And not a cool vicious looking one, either, like a tarantula, or an especially toxic one like the Sydney Funnel Web. He was a spider from the _Latrodectus_ family, probably a Red Back, though the fact that his markings were in the shape of a lightning bolt made identification more difficult. He might have even dealt with the form despite all his complaints if not for the final icing on the cake: not only did he end up with a tiny form that would be easily squished, not only was he only mildly venomous, but he was the bloody _girl_ of the species. So here he was, climbing the craggy stone outer walls of Hogwarts with an oversized arse the size of a pea and another two levels left to climb.

Harry wished he could have just used his invisibility cloak and gotten into Dante's rooms that way, but being as the Entry Hall was too close to the Great Hall and it was lunch time, he didn't want to risk coming in close contact with his Blood Clone and making the damned thing malfunction. The last thing he needed was for the clone to regress in age or begin singing showtunes in front of the staff. And, unfortunately, flying in his invisibility cloak was a very bad idea any farther than a foot off the ground, as there was no way to conceal his feet.

Dante's window was in sight now, and Harry nearly sobbed in joy to see that his window was cracked open. He would have been pissed off if he had made it all the way up only to find the window locked tight. Now he just had to hope Dante's unnatural aversion to spiders didn't cause him to squish him before he noticed who it was.

Dante was sitting in his favorite chair in front of the fire, hand paused in the mid-turning of a page. Dark blue eyes were riveted on Harry as he crawled his way through the window. "Mylläkkä, you are lucky that your form is so distinctive or I would have impaled you." He flicked his wrist to call attention to the dagger he had there.

Harry transformed once he was free of the window, glaring over at Dante. "You really need to see someone about this spider obsession you've got. Really. Because for a millennia old vampire, it just can't be healthy."

"Shut up, childe."

Harry sighed and fell gracelessly into the other chair closing his eyes in exhaustion. It was New Year's Eve and Harry had decided to preempt the students' return to Hogwarts. He had given over information to Lucius to do further research on Dumbledore and sketched out a timeline for the release of bits of information. Rita Skeeter would be their unknowing comrade-in-arms in this; after all, the petty witch never passed up the chance to slander someone. By giving her a few pieces of information, she would hunt for more and exaggerate as much as possible. Hopefully it would be enough.

"Dante, I want to spar," Harry said suddenly. "I need to get back into shape. These once-a-month training sessions just aren't going to cut it."

The blond looked up from his book. "What brought about this epiphany?"

Harry coughed and looked away from his trainer. "I figured it out while in a duel with Tom, but then Valerian decided he wanted to test me… and he kicked my arse…"

"Nothing new about that," Dante said with a smirk.

"Yes, well, usually I can at least hold him off for a while! He kicked my ass repeatedly for an hour!"

Dante nodded, "Fine, we will begin your training again. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday in the Safe Room off my classroom from four ante meridiem until you must return to ready yourself for classes. Will that be sufficient?"

Harry sighed, already dreading being back under Dante's torture-- that is, tutelage. "Yes. That will have to be fine."

"Why were you dueling with your Lord Voldemort?"

Harry refused to take the bait of arguing that Voldemort was not _his_. He explained the events of the holidays as best he could, leaving out bits that he neither wanted Dante to know nor did Dante _want_ to know. "And so, for one reason or another, he was ticked off at me enough that, in front of Valerian, he started a fight! Then, once Val was gone, he decided to be an even bigger arse and start shooting curses!"

Dante's lips twitched, and Harry knew he wasn't going to like where the conversation was going. Any time Dante was amused, it was generally at his expense. The blond inclined his head, effectively hiding his expression. "Interesting."

"Dante, I haven't the will or the mood for this right now. Please don't toy with me."

"Your Voldemort was jealous."

Harry blinked rapidly, eyebrows climbing up towards his hairline. "What?"

"Jealous. He was jealous. It is quite obvious, Mylläkkä."

"But he's the bloody bastard that said it was a 'one time thing', and it was only _Valerian_…"

"He does not seem like one to share, regardless of circumstance. And denial is very common in the emotionally constipated."

Harry snorted. "Yes, well, that may be true. Regardless of that, he's a damned prat and I really shouldn't put up with him. The sooner this war is over with, the sooner I can leave this convoluted world behind."

Dante's expressionless face stared back at him, and Harry resisted the urge to fidget. "Do you think it will be so easy?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Harry countered. "Once I return to Sceaduwe, I can leave the annoying world and its perpetual power struggle behind. My task is merely to make sure these prophecies are no longer relevant so I can live my life in peace."

Dante didn't even blink.

"What?!" Harry said in exasperation.

"You are such a foolish boy. Still a child no matter the weight on your shoulders. Do you really think you would be able to stay away?"

"Yes."

"Tell me about this life."

Harry sat back and looked at the ceiling. "Well, let's see… I would probably end up consenting to a full Change; as Valerian's heir I can't be anything less than immortal. The werewolves are the only beings allowed in who aren't, and that's only because they once _were_. I will help Valerian all I can and continue learning… it will be a lot like these last few years, really."

"What were your motivations during your training?"

"Are you being a counselor or what, Dante? Ugh. I don't know… Escaping the Wizarding world by putting an end to the ties that bind me there, making myself powerful enough to be taken as an equal to Tom…"

"And what will your motivations be when you return?"

Harry pursed his lips and didn't answer.

"You would have none." It wasn't a question.

Harry inclined his head. "Regardless…"

"Tell me, Harry, how you imagine a world without your Voldemort in it."

The use of his given name startled Harry enough to meet blue eyes, which were narrowed slightly in his direction. Harry sighed and shrugged a shoulder. "I… don't really think I can. Since I was eleven years old I've been trying to, but Tom is kind of a central figure in my life. He was the killer of my parents, my attempted murderer, the reason I was who I was, the reason my life had been the way it was. And now… well, he's Tom. He's the prat that makes my life difficult and kisses me for no damn good reason, who doesn't like to get up early and…" Harry halted his speech and resolutely refused to meet Dante's eyes.

"I think you need to sit and consider just what you've gotten yourself into. You continually shove all such thoughts to the back of your mind, unable to bear the thoughts that you know you have. You refuse attachment because you are a pessimist who believes your life is fated to go wrong, you run away from emotions you don't understand. This will end up hindering you in the future."

Harry growled under his breath. "How do you figure you know so much about relationships? You have no experience whatsoever in this; you haven't even moved on past your first love from when you were still mortal."

Silence.

Harry knew immediately that he shouldn't have said that. It was an unspoken boundary, not to be touched no matter the circumstance.

Dante stood slowly, jaw quivering in rage and his hands balled into fists. He had more control than anyone Harry had ever seen, though, for he only turned to face the fire and continued in a low tone. "I have spent the last centuries observing. When you have lived so long, after all, what else is there to do? I have seen generations pass me by, and watching the way they interacted was always interesting to me, as it was never the same from day to day. You may choose to ignore my advice all you wish, but if you dare to mention Ann again, I will not be so kind next time."

"I'm sorry Dante," Harry said quietly, knowing it was inadequate. "You know I didn't mean it."

"I will go to retrieve your clone now, Mylläkkä. We will continue this conversation later."

Harry heeded the dismissal and unshrunk his invisibility cloak, pulling it around his shoulders and slipping from the room. He needed to see Snape about the student list, anyway. Now, though, in addition to the million other things on his overburdened mind, he also had how to apologize to Dante.

It seemed he was far too good at saying the wrong thing lately.

* * *

Harry's Animagus form: I wanted to be different. I've rarely seen him be anything less than ubercool in a non-parody, and as much as I'd rather him be something nifty… well, it's all been done before to death, so I wanted to go with an insect. I've never seen it for Harry, personally. And the symbology fits, I think.

**Spider: **Spiders are weavers and tricksters. They symbolize fate, caution, entanglement, ruthlessness, female energy, wisdom, creativity, new life, warning signals, illusions. They are most often seen as harbingers of danger and warnings of future upheaval.

As for him being a female spider, other than for humorous purposes, there are reasons for that as well. Females are the dominant ones in spiders, the strong ones. Males are generally more fragile and killed quickly. The role reversal was one of several reasons I chose this for him, not as an implication that Harry is a girl. :P

Revised: 3/20/09


	25. Noetic

Disclaimer: I does not own. I does not want to. Would be shite if I owned. XD

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Noetic // characteristic of, coming from, or understood by the human mind_

* * *

"…So I thought you wouldn't mind my dropping in, Severus."

Severus ground his teeth as he looked up at Albus Dumbledore in all his twinkling glory, robes charmed to change colors at hourly intervals and an oversized Wizard's hat perched over his head. Oftentimes in moments like this, Severus wondered what wrongs he had committed in a past life to deserve such a fate. He also considered mixing together dragon's blood and aconite and, for the first and only time, enjoying an exploding cauldron. Instead he gazed blankly up at the Headmaster. "I am a busy man, Albus. Is there any reason you have ventured into the dungeons, or are you once again existing solely to make my life miserable?"

"Miserable, Severus? You wound me." The words were petulant, but Dumbledore's buoyant smile was unquenched. "I have important matters to discuss with you, my boy. Have you noticed anything strange about our Mr. Potter?"

A million acerbic comebacks laid on his tongue, most conjoining with the plural possessive adjective, but Severus paused for half a moment. This could be his chance… his chance to break away from the mess Potter was plunging him headfirst into. Away from the corrupted Dark and back into the Light, where he had been working for so long to repent for his sins. Could he do it? Could he, once again, switch sides? Albus was his mentor, the only person to see a shred of redeemable humanity in the shell he had become after Hogwarts, had offered him a chance to redeem himself…

'_Offered it with the price of guilt, with an endless term of slavery attached. He gave a broken child empty promises of redemption, which I sought for years without a single whisper muffled or hostility dampened… All for the price of being the killer of the woman I loved… the woman whose child is now presiding over me with those damnable eyes…'_

"The brat seems to be as Gryffindor as ever, Headmaster." And so he sealed his fate, invisible chains binding him forevermore to the spawn of James Potter. Severus thought he should feel worse in this situation; as it was, he merely felt resigned.

"Good, good," Dumbledore chirped, hat wobbling precariously on his head as he nodded. "He's at an age where he might get… ideas in his head about the paths he is taking… and we wouldn't want that, now would we? You'll keep an eye on him, won't you Severus? "

"When did I ever get the choice, Headmaster?" he snipped, eyes falling back to the course planner he was revising. "Now, if that is all…"

"Lily would be proud of you, my boy."

Severus flinched, and he knew the movement was caught by Dumbledore. it was probably intended. Again he brought up Lily. The man had nerve, Severus would give him that.

'_The nerve of a feral koala, ready to rend flesh from bone the moment its needs are not met. Your benign exterior may fool the masses, but I've been in the fold for far too long old man. How Minerva or Pomona or Filius can even look you in the eye I don't know…'_

Severus let a grim smile stretch his lips as the Headmaster left the room and the door clicked shut, his voice soft. "Would you really, Lily? Or would you sooner cut me down for allowing him to follow this path?"

"Why would my mum do much of anything to you?"

Severus jolted as the voice rang through the empty room, his eyes immediately seeking its source. The damned cloak again, he bet. Sure enough, there was a glimpse of inhuman eyes floating before him before they disappeared again. Severus sneered, "That would be none of your business, Potter. What do you need?"

"Touchy much?"

Severus bared his teeth. "What do you need, _milord_? I would like to complete this grading before the students return and turn in their holiday assignments."

Severus heard Potter nonchalantly pushing himself to sit on the corner of Severus' desk, displacing several items. "You've got that list for me, right?"

Severus wordlessly snatched up a scroll and handed it over, ignoring Potter as best as he could as the scroll hovered in midair. It was only moments before the scroll was back in front of him. "Looks good enough for me… in fact, that's more people than I thought you would be sure of."

Severus glared at the parchment in front of him. Who was Potter to question his work? He nearly said something to that effect as well, but Harry cut him off.

"Not that you're incompetent in any way, of course; I knew that if anyone would be able to get this information it would be you. But I didn't think there were actually that many people who were sympathetic in fifth and sixth year."

"There are more who would be swayed. Right now the war is teetering on a precipice; everyone fears the Dark Lord and knows him powerful, but you were the one to defeat him as a baby. They believe you would only multiply in power as the years went on. They all believe you are firmly with the Light and that causes fear in those who would possibly fall in with the Dark Sect."

Harry nodded vaguely. "Alright then. For now, send out a note to each of those students, self-igniting, with an invitation to come to the Room of Requirement if they are amenable."

"And for those students who are not aware of the room's location?"

"I suppose you should simply put that they should come to the seventh floor corridor across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy."

Severus nodded absently. "What date and time?"

"Hmm." he could hear Potter's feet shuffling on the stone floor; he had obviously gotten off Severus' desk now. "How about Tuesday the seventh at half seven? That should give us enough time before curfew."

"Yes, my lord."

The door opened slightly, signaling Potter finally leaving, but Severus could still hear the boy's breathing. He wanted more than anything for the brat to _leave_ already, but it seemed, per usual, fate was not on his side. "Severus?"

"What do you need _now_?" he snapped, glancing up to meet glowing green eyes and freezing. It was eerie, he supposed, but it was also much easier to deal with Potter when he could see nothing but the boy's eyes… there was no resemblance to James Potter there. He waited for whatever the boy would ask now.

"Tell me about my mum."

Severus' fingers tightened around his quill and the sound of it snapping was loud in the silent room. He didn't want to answer that, he couldn't answer that… yet he seemed unable to avoid the question in the face of those eyes. Vaguely, though Severus would never admit it, the words Pierce had spoken went thought his mind: _'You who, had luck shone upon you, might have been that boy's father.' _Had fate been kinder, would the boy still have those eyes? Would they still be the bane of his existence then?

"Your mother…" Severus couldn't believe he was even speaking. "Your mother was the most amazing soul I have ever met." A sharp intake of breath made Severus snap to attention black eyes piercing green. "Get out, Potter. I have work to do."

"Snape…"

"_Go_, Potter."

Severus heard the boy sigh, but moments later the door was closed again and there was no longer any sign the boy had been there. Severus rub his eyes wearily and pushed his grading away. He wouldn't be able to concentrate on it, anyway.

* * *

Harry wasn't sure what he thought as he left Snape's office, invisibility cloak tight around his sixteen year old body. He had reverted in an empty classroom after leaving Dante's room, unwilling to remain in his natural form for long in Hogwarts, invisibility cloak or no. Of all his memories from his younger years, fifth year had always been the most vivid. Between Umbridge's reign, Occlumency lessons with Snape, the Department of Mysteries fiasco, and Sirius' untimely death, there were memories of that year that stood out in stark relief against the more mundane and faded ones surrounding them.

He keenly remembered, for instance, the only time he had ever seen his parents in anything but photographs. The memory in Snape's pensive had disillusioned him of his perfect father, had taken away the awe and reverence James Potter had previously held in Harry's heart. And he might have even felt badly enough for Snape to apologize, having seen that his father really _had_ been a swaggering bastard… if not for how Severus had turned around and treated the beautiful woman Harry knew to be his mother. Mudblood, he had called her, as she had risen to his defense. And so any shame Harry might have felt and any sorrow that might have been directed at his Potions' professor faded to nothing in the face of Lily Evans' pained expression.

But Snape had spoken of her… reverently. What was he missing in this puzzle? He had only even asked because no matter how much he heard of his father, he knew very little of his mother beyond that she had a temper and was good at Charms. He had thought to hear something, biased though it would be, from someone who might have seen her day to day and known _something_… and then Severus had spoken. What was Harry _missing_?

Harry paused as he exited the dungeons, senses flaring out immediately. Someone had been watching him and being sly about it. The aura was distinctly human but… off. He didn't know how to describe the difference. It tugged at him, and something in him screamed that he should know what the disparity was, but he just couldn't place it.

He made a show of stretching his arms as he pinpointed where his watcher was. With his blood thrumming in his veins he used every ounce of speed he could muster he sprang towards it, intent on catching his observer. He felt their aura flash in alarm even as he threw himself around the hallway corner to catch a look.

All Harry saw was the tail end of a black cloak disappearing around a corner farther down.

Harry cursed and stood, not bothering to hunt the offender farther. He'd find them again.

* * *

"I figured, y'know, with their shop and all, that they'd actually be _gone_ once in a while. But no, they just had to be there. And then, do you know what they did? Do ya know, Hermione?!"

Hermione's fingers were threaded through her bushy hair, a dark look on her face. "I don't know Ron. Tested out a prank on you, perhaps?" she muttered with a sarcasm that was lost on the redhead.

"Yes! And in front of _Fleur_! I mean, I know she's my brother's fiancée and all, but she's bloody gorgeous and… And it couldn't be a normal prank that just changed my hair color or something, it was one that listed out my nicknames! So now she knows…" Ron's face turned a sickly puce. "Well, she knows things that no one has a right to know!"

"Like what? Ronniekins? She would have heard that one after a few days in your house anyway," Hermione said with exasperation.

"That wasn't the worst of it! It even listed the dumb ones from when I was a kid… like Wonald Wetpants… that was a stupid one I had for about a month from the twins when I was _five_!"

Ron met Harry's eyes and gave an imperceptible nod as Hermione finally cracked a small smile, puffy eyes still trained on her uneaten dinner but finally managing an expression other than glaring or staring despondently. It was more of a reaction than Harry had managed to get from her in the few days he'd been back at Hogwarts. He understood her pain at losing her parents but was unable to fathom how bad it must be to lose something tangible. To him, the loss of his parents was an abstract, an empty space where people who cared for him were meant to be. For Hermione, it was the loss of something she had had for years and suddenly was without. Harry gave Ron a small smile, approving of his tactics.

Harry was really quite impressed with Ron. Even only a year ago he had been so dim that he wouldn't have even noticed anything was wrong with Hermione, likely sticking his foot in his mouth as he stumbled insensitively around their grieving friend. It was times like this that Harry really regretted the imminent loss of his friends, as he saw just how far they had come.

"What about 'Bonnie Ronnie'?" Neville asked slyly from Harry's left, spearing another bite and stuffing it into his mouth to hide his expression.

"Oi!" Ron said, turning steadily redder. "Let's not get into that, huh?"

"Oh this I've got to hear," Harry said with a chuckle, raising an eyebrow at the brunet to his side. "Well, Neville?"

"Well, when we were in primary school -- yeah, we went together; Gran wanted me to interact with others and we didn't really have the money for tutors. Well we were… I don't know, how old were we, Ron? Seven?"

Ron stayed quiet and poked at his food, though the tips of his ears were an angry red.

"Anyway," Neville continued with a grin. "Ron showed up to class one morning with his lips bright red and blue eyeshadow caked on… turns out he had gotten into his mum's cosmetics and as punishment she had refused to spell them off. So he was stuck for three days in it, and the name stuck for two years."

Harry couldn't help but laugh and was pleased when he heard Hermione giggle as well. Ron seemed to have noticed as well, for the very real annoyance he had been showing morphed into a mild chagrin. "Yeah, well, you just watch out Nev, 'cos once the twins figure out that spell, I'll do yours in front of the whole Great Hall."

Neville turned pink. "No need for that, Ron."

"We should get up to the dorm, boys, we have Potions first thing in the morning," Hermione put in, already standing. Harry stood as well, smiling amicably. The spring term had begun, and things would only pick up from here.

* * *

Harry smirked as the seats filled from his hidden vantage point, a notice-me-not charm layered with a disillusionment charm to keep him from being detected, as he wasn't willing to reveal his invisibility cloak. The room was steadily filling, people dividing themselves by house and settling into the seats the room had provided. Most kept a large space between them and Snape, who stood near the front of the room with a forbidding look that was part annoyance at Harry and part aversion to revealing his true alliances to anyone. The majority of those entering the room were, of course, Slytherins, as they were the most easily detected in their leanings, but Harry was surprised by some of the people who entered.

Zacharias Smith entered alone, a confident swagger in his walk and shrewd eyes darting across the room's occupants. Harry didn't remember much other than the boy was a Hufflepuff, though with the way the young man walked it was obvious that he might have ended up a Slytherin. It was a strange combination, but no stranger than an obvious Gryffindor who would have done well with the snakes.

Padma and Parvati Patil came in clutching one anothers' hands, faces drawn. Despite their nervous appearance, though, they walked resolutely and took seats near the middle of the room, jaws set identically. Harry wondered what had happened to turn the two girls to Voldemort's ideals when they had been so silly and immature in his memory.

A small group of fifth year Ravenclaws came next, three of them, nameless to Harry, with who Harry thought was Lisa Turpin leading them. They didn't seem especially nervous, though they eyed the Slytherins and chose a seat where they could keep an eye on them.

His eyes scanned over the group of Slytherins, Draco holding court over them per usual. Though the blond was in on the workings of the meeting, Harry had specifically told him not to give anything away. He would back up Harry if necessary, and Harry thought it would be, but would stay a part of the group until then. Harry's eyes caught dark ones and paused.

Blaise Zabini was staring directly at him, a cold look on his face. Harry was taken aback by the hatred that was conveyed in the look, nearly enough to not realize that the black boy should _not_ be able to see him. He tensed, immediately on guard, and concentrated on how Zabini could be strong enough to see through the layered spells rather than on why the Slytherin held such hatred towards him. He was silent in his observation, for now, so Harry relaxed minutely.

He could recall very little of Zabini, as he had mostly stayed in the background in Harry's early years. Even in the most involved of his confrontations with Malfoy, Blaise had been an observer, someone noticed only for, perhaps, the exotic slant of his eyes and the depth of his gaze. He also vaguely recalled from his political tutoring that his mother was something of a black widow, but that answered little of his questions.

Harry put aside his questions as he noticed most of the seats were filled and it was five minutes after the time Harry had specified the meeting to be. He made his way to the door followed only by Zabini's eyes, ready to set the privacy wards he and Dante had worked out as soon as Severus made the introduction. He didn't have to wait long.

Severus drew himself up, his presence commanding attention as much as it did in Potions class, black eyes roving slowly over the students. He spoke in a low tone that Harry wanted to applaud for its poignancy. "You have been called here today due to a perceived proclivity towards serving the Dark Lord." His eyes narrowed. "If you did not understand the intent of the letter you received, you may leave now and forget you ever came to this room. If you stay and are too imbecilic to perform the tasks assigned to you, I will take pleasure in Obliviating you of all thoughts pertaining to this meeting. Are we in accord?"

Snape waited for any who would take his out, though no one moved a muscle. The Potions master nodded to Harry who lifted his wand to dispel the enchantments placed over him. He was on the brink of silently releasing the spells when the door to the room flew open, making a dozen wands swivel immediately to train on the doorway.

Apparently completely oblivious to the attention, Luna Lovegood meandered into the room with a vague smile. She paused just inside the door and tilted her head before locking eyes with Harry and smiling. "Hullo."

Harry blinked at the blond, intent on asking her just what she thought she was doing when another familiar form entered the room. Harry's eyes widened as he took in Neville, outward confidence belied only by the slight shaking of his hands, who walked up to Luna and put a hand on the small of her back. "Let's sit down."

The room's door closed on its own and Harry shook himself from his daze, lifting his wand and tapping himself on the head with a silent _Finite_. Immediately, all attention that had been on the odd pair swung to him, even that of the odd pair themselves. Harry raised an eyebrow when he realized neither was shocked to see him, as opposed to most of the rest of the room who was gaping or clutching their wands with fearful expressions.

Harry chuckled and turned his back, confident none would recover enough to curse him in the next few moments. He slit his palm with a fang and pushed his bloodied hand against the wall, injecting the intent of secrecy into his slowly awakening Vampire magic. A blue glow fanned out from his spread fingers and quickly covered every dimension of the room - floor, ceiling, walls and door. Harry stabbed his wand into the glowing wall and chanted a long string of words in Latin before the glow could fade, sealing the spell into the occupants of the room and anchoring the enchantments for the next few hours. He wouldn't need that much time, but better safe than sorry.

He removed his wand with a jerk and turned to watch the blue spell-light rain down on the heads of the room's occupants, finalizing the spell. Harry strode towards the front of the room with a confident gait, eyes trailing over the still shell-shocked students. "You have chosen not to back out, but this precaution has been taken regardless. The spell I just cast on this room will keep you from uttering a word of what you learn here outside of this room unless you are in my presence or I unlock your ability to do so. Even Legilimency will not be able to pry anything you learn here from your mind." Harry didn't mention that Veritaserum could bypass the spell; he didn't want them to have the out.

He leaned against the wall and smirked at the room. "You are here because Severus thought you showed an inclination to the Dark. You want to be Death Eaters someday, then?"

The Slytherin's mouths were clamped tightly shut, obviously unwilling to say anything that could be used against them to _Harry Potter_ of all people. Padma and Parvati were deathly pale and the younger students looked damned near ready to piss themselves. Harry could practically read the thoughts currently running through their minds - _'We've been had.'_

It was Luna who stood, airy smile replaced with a small curve of her lips. "Yes, Harry-who-isn't-quite-Harry."

"Why?" Harry couldn't help but ask. He wanted to ask _how_ and _when_ and a million other questions, but the simple why would have to do.

"Because we'll follow you to the end," Neville said quietly, fingers twisted in his sleeves but voice steady. "Dark or Light or what have you… we're with _you_, Harry."

Harry nearly smiled, but settled on a jerky nod to his dormmate. He would find out how they knew of him and the meeting later. For now, he moved his eyes over the rest of the room. Zacharias Smith was the next to speak out, a cocky tilt to his jaw that screamed his lofty opinion of himself. A few memories from Harry's fifth year presented themselves and told him that the boy in front of him was quite often a royal prat. Harry raised an eyebrow at the brunet.

"Potter, seems we were all wrong about you. I would be proud to be a Death Eater."

The statement seemed to shake the listeners from their stupor, as murmurs began to raise from the Slytherin section of the room. The betrayed looks being flashed at Severus and the malicious ones towards Harry increased, and Harry lifted a hand. "Draco? If you would?"

"Yes… my lord."

Harry could tell the honorific was slightly forced, but Draco stood and bowed slightly nonetheless. He turned to the room with a raised eyebrow as all sound stopped and eyes centered on him, and Harry rolled his eyes as the blond puffed up under the attention. They had already gone over the attitude he was not allowed to have and between his natural Slytherin tendencies and his strong sense of self preservation, Harry anticipated no problems.

"I wasn't thrilled to begin with either," Draco addressed his peers. "But, like it or not, he is the legitimate. I have seen him with the Dark Lord myself. I've also been… entertaining… him at my home over the Yule holidays."

"Impossible!" Lisa Turpin put in suddenly. "He was here at Hogwarts for the whole break!"

"Not that it's any of your business, but that was a golem." Harry didn't think the whole truth was necessary. "You all may have heard of Mylläkkä, yes? Well, that is me. I may be Harry Potter, but I am not the Golden Boy you all have seen these last years. If my identity is going to hamper your service, you will never be a Death Eater."

Muttered denials sprung up around the room, and Harry just stared until they stopped. "You have no obligation to assist me, but if you truly aspire to be Death Eaters you will have to learn to work under me. Trust me… anything you deal with now will be a doddle compared to what you'll do once Voldemort gets his hands on you."

One of the unnamed fifth year Ravenclaws was watching him closely, finger tapping his lower lip. "Father told me about you."

"Oh? And who is your father?"

"Armand Selwyn."

Harry vaguely recalled the man as one of the many minions of Voldemort's that spent an inordinate amount of time at the Manor. "Ah, yes. And you are…?"

"Alec. Alec Selwyn. You're a vampire, aren't you?"

Gasps echoed in the room and Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, I am. That is not common knowledge, so I'd thank you to keep it to within privileged circles."

"Of course, my lord," Alec said quickly.

Harry nodded to the young man and then let his eyes fall onto the Patil twins, who were paler now than they had been before. "Padma? Parvati? Would you like out now? You don't seem comfortable."

Harry could practically _see_ Parvati summoning her Gryffindor courage. "No Har- my lord."

"And why are you here?"

Padma spoke up, knuckles white. "We will be Death Eaters."

Harry tipped his head in a small nod. "Alright then. For now, the only task I will set forth for you is to gather information on others who might be swayed and plant doubts in the minds of others. Since I will not be here next year, you will have more tasks then, but for now I only want you to observe. Soon I might require other help in research and the like. I will approach you if I am in need of you. You will come to Professor Snape or me with any questions or if you believe a person qualified to work with us. Draco would also be able to get messages to me, wouldn't you, Draco?"

Draco nodded. "Yes."

"Then that is all. Does anyone feel this is too much for them?"

As it turned out, one of Slytherin sixth years, Daphne Greengrass, and three of the fifth years, a Slytherin and the two unnamed Ravenclaws, were Obliviated by Snape. Harry was actually reluctantly impressed that they were mature enough to know they were in over their heads.

As the group began leaving the room, Harry beckoned over Malfoy. "What do you know about Zabini?"

Draco raised en eyebrow. "I've known him since we were children; quite a lot I'd think."

"I want to know why he could see me regardless of the enchantments I had concealing my presence."

"He has Necromantic blood."

This actually explained a lot, and Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Really? That is… rather interesting. So he's known I was a vampire all year, then?"

Draco scowled suddenly. "I suppose he did." The blond looked disgruntled. "Traitorous little…"

"I would also like to know why he was looking at me like I would make a good cadaver."

"I wouldn't know. I can find out though."

"Do that," Harry said with obvious dismissal, waving his hand. "You should go now, I can tell your cronies are all dying for answers that they wouldn't dare ask in front of me. You'll lend me the memory, won't you?"

Draco snorted. "As you wish, Potter."

"Good, good. Have a good night, Little Pretty."

* * *

"Ronald! You're being foolish, just _listen_ to me, would you?"

Harry sighed as he watched his friends argue back and forth, both steadily becoming more red faced and irritable as the squabble escalated into a full-blown row. Harry was rather disappointed to see the two growing apart as much as they had over the last months; last year he had been sure they would marry someday, but as the weeks had passed it seemed less and less likely that the two would do anything more than remain friends. They simply clashed too much.

"Hermione! Shut up already! Just because I'm not doing it _your_ way doesn't mean it isn't right!"

Hermione virtually snarled, and Harry stared in shock at the ferocity. He had never seen Hermione's temper so short; he feared she was taking the death of her parents worse than she let on. Harry watched with trepidation as her fingers curled around her wand, the look on her face vicious.

And then she was dropping her wand in shock, staring in confused silence at her own hand before spinning on her heel and bolting out the portrait hole.

Harry's arm jerked involuntarily as the silver snake around his forearm heated, not out of any pain but out of surprise. How much worse could the timing be? He had not been expecting a message so soon after his return to Hogwarts; it had only been a week since the second term had begun. He wondered wryly if something had gone wrong… again.

He made an excuse to Ron about going after Hermione and patted his pocked to be sure his potions and invisibility cloak were there before taking off, tapping the snake as soon as he was alone.

_//Potter, the raid planned on the Department of Magical Law Enforcement must be carried out tonight rather then next month due to some unforeseen complications. I need you here so our statement of a united front is established. You have half an hour.//_

Harry cursed. If he ran across Hermione on his way out of the castle, so be it, but if not, he would have to come up with a detention as an excuse. This raid was meant to be an important turning point in the way the Wizarding world viewed the Dark Sect, and Harry wanted to know what had happened to make them have to drastically move up their timetable.

Just as Harry broke out of the Entrance Hall, he had to dive to the side to avoid a hex streaking towards him. He raised up his wand in answer to stare in shock at Hermione Granger standing over him, eyes wild and manic grin on her face.

"Did you know there are two hundred and six bones in the human body? Did you, Harry? Did you? How many of yours do you think I could break before you lost consciousness?"

* * *

Revised: 3/20/09

* * *


	26. Ascendancy

Disclaimer: I does not own. I does not want to. Would be shite if I owned. XD

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Ascendancy // a position of power or domination over others_

* * *

Harry kept half his attention on the wand in her hand. He had seen her drop hers in the common room, so the question of whose it was came to mind first. Most of his attention was drawn, though, by the glint in her eyes and the nearly hysterical note to her voice. Something was off. Seriously off.

"Ron is the most fatuitous individual I've ever met… don't you agree, Harry?" she babbled. "Always whinging about the exertion he has to put into his work; as if he does anything on his own! He's been constantly using me as a stepstool since first year! He'd have failed out ages ago if not for me! But no, he continues to moan and bleat as if anyone _cares_ what he has to say! Don't you agree, Harry? Don't you?"

Harry surreptitiously tightened his grip on his wand, trying to decide if he could manage to get her before she fired anything off. "Of course I do, Hermione…"

"He makes me so… so…" Her breathing was accelerating and a hand gripped hard in her bushy curls, yanking at it as if it would help alleviate her annoyance. "Have you ever looked at him and wished he were gone, Harry? I have. My head starts _pounding_ and I just want to make him feel the pain he inflicts upon me and watch him _writhe_! Do you understand me Harry?" And suddenly her attention was all on Harry again, wand jabbed under his chin. "You agree, right? If not, I would be happy to show you how delicious it can be. Then again… it won't be you who will be happy in that case, will it?"

The wand, Harry thought it might be hawthorn or apple wood by the golden tint to the pale wood, traced over his jaw near lovingly, and had Hermione's grin not been so disturbing, Harry might have been uncomfortable. As it was, he was looking for an opportunity to stun his friend so he could figure out just what in the hell was wrong with her. Instincts in the back of his mind screamed for him to tear out her throat with his teeth and cast the corpse aside, but Harry ignored it. It had told him several times to do the same to Voldemort, even, and he had yet to listen to it then.

"The zygomatic bone is rather fragile… I wonder how many splinters I could break it into?" Hermione breathed, wand trailing over his cheekbone. "But then that might ruin those pretty eyes of yours, and we wouldn't want that, would we? No, no… that would be sinful. Tragic Boy Savior must have the soulful eyes… can't have a blind hero, now can we, Harry?"

Her nose was crunched in thought and her focus on somewhere around his ear, so Harry used that short moment of thought to send a silent '_Stupefy_' at her. The red beam of light made her eyes roll back in her head and Harry roll to the side to avoid her falling body.

Harry didn't know what to think. Something was damned wrong with his friend, that was unquestionable. A million possibilities ran through his mind… the Imperious was out simply because of the _way_ she had been acting. There had been nothing vacant or hesitant about her actions. A possession gone wrong wafted through his mind as well. Could someone have broken into her mind and done serious damage? Harry cursed that he did not have the knowledge necessary to find out what was wrong with her.

Harry quickly weighed his options without considering his feelings for Hermione. This raid was terribly important to the speed of the rest of the war and to showing the force and power they commanded; there was no way he could miss it. It had perhaps been fifteen minutes since he had received the summons from Voldemort and it would take another ten to get to the edge of the wards if he couldn't fly, which he wouldn't be able to if he was magicing his friend behind him. On the other hand, if he just left her and she awoke from the stunner and did damage to anyone, someone would very likely notice Harry's absence.

Harry sighed and chose the obvious first option, pointing his wand toward the collapsed form of his friend ready to cast _Mobilicorpus_ when he spotted a crumpled mass of black and white-blond. Draco. Harry cursed and gritted his teeth… it seemed everything was out to slow him down.

Harry thanked the fact that the new moon had been only nights before and that winter nights were so dark so early as he quickly made his way to Malfoy's limp form. His own vision allowed him to see well enough but would make their identification from any of the castle's window difficult to impossible. He quickly cast an _Ennervate _at the Slytherin and impatiently pushed at his side with foot. "Malfoy! What the hell happened?"

Draco looked up at the barked command, silvery eyes wide for a moment before narrowing, a snarl forming on his lips. "That mudblood bitch Stunned me! I demand she pay for…"

Harry cut him off with a glare. "Tell me _everything_ Malfoy. Now."

Draco shrank away a bit, face closing off. "I was patrolling the corridors when Granger ran by me, nearly managing to knock both of us down the stairs. She ignored me when I had words with her and proceeded to run out the front doors. I chased after her. She started screaming and gripping her head and then attacked me with no provocation! She took my wand, as well! Where is it?!"

Harry growled. "That was no answer at all. If was not in such a hurry…"

"Is there a problem, Mister Potter?"

Harry turned to face Severus, who had just exited the castle's doors. He was already unshrinking a set of robes from his pocket that Harry recognized as Death Eater regalia, "You were Called, then?"

"Yes," he said shortly. "Now, why is Miss Granger unconscious and what is Mister Malfoy doing out here?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't have time for this shit, Tom needs us there in less than ten minutes now."

"What's going on? The Dark Lord is summoning you both? I want to go!"

Snape turned a disdainful sneer on his student. "Mister Malfoy, you are acting like a petulant first year. You are not a Death Eater and therefore this does not pertain to you." Severus turned and addressed Harry. "If the Dark Lord requites our presence, why are you dawdling here, Potter?"

Harry growled and straightened, "Something is wrong with Hermione. She fled the common room in a panic and apparently attacked Malfoy before I arrived and she attacked me as well. If I leave her here and she is discovered, my absence will be obvious."

Snape's dark eyes narrowed, but he didn't snap back. Instead he cast a silent spell to levitate Hermione's inert form. "Mister Malfoy, return to your dormitories; I think your patrols are complete for the night."

The blond took on a resemblance to a bird whose feathers were puffed out in outrage. "Why can't I come as well? I think I have every right…"

Snape opened his mouth to contradict his student when Harry raised his hand. "Let him come. The boy needs a wake up call anyway."

Severus' pale lips thinned almost to nonexistence, but he inclined his head. "As you wish, my lord."

"Good. You take him and I'll take Hermione. Tell Tom I'll meet him in his office or his rooms or… well, I'll meet him somewhere between his entrance hall and his bedroom."

Severus looked pale. "My lord allows no one above the first floor of the manor, are you sure it is wise…"

Harry snorted as he flicked his wand at Hermione and took over the '_Mobilicorpus'_ spell. He began at a fast pace towards the nearest edge for the wards, tossing a smirk over his shoulder as he replied. "I don't have time to revert to my natural form right now and I don't have a suitable change of clothes on me. His clothes are only a bit long on me, easy to fix."

Harry ignored the incredulous expressions the two Slytherins gave him and laughed as silently as he could.

* * *

"What is this Severus tells me about you bringing your mudblood into my manor?"

Harry glanced under his arm at the serpentine Dark Lord before turning his attention back to getting his second foot through the leg of Voldemort's leather pants. He had Reverted directly after leaving Hermione in Voldemort's office under a strong sleeping hex and was now trying to dress as quickly as possible. Harry shivered as he felt crimson eyes on his bare back. "It was either leave her there to be discovered and have my cover blown or bring her along and put her under a strong sleeping spell, Tom. I didn't get much information out of Malfoy, but something is obviously wrong with her. She attacked me and was acting… well… like an Azkaban escapee, really."

Voldemort tapped his long fingers on his crossed arms. "We'll discuss that later, then. May I ask why you are wearing my clothing?" The sarcasm was apparent as Harry rolled too-long sleeves up to his forearms before pushing through the wardrobe for an appropriate robe.

"Because I wasn't expecting to be called away," Harry retorted with a glare, pulling out a nice black set of robes with crimson detailing and pulling them on. "May I ask why you suddenly moved the raid up from next month?"

Voldemort leaned against the doorframe and spoke in a bored tone. "One of our people in the Ministry got word that this would be the last full Auror meeting for six months; they have devised a new way to get word through their ranks. If we wish to take out as many as possible, this is our last chance."

Harry sighed and walked for the door, stopping a foot away from his partner. "Well, I suppose there's nothing we can do, then. Do you have the portkeys?"

Voldemort nodded and pulled out several trinkets to hand to Harry. "Only you and I will have them; choose wisely. The higher in rank the better. We each have three."

While they would be killing as many Aurors as they could in this raid, they also wanted information. Voldemort had easily solved the problem by suggesting a few one-way portkey trips to his dungeons to await interrogation. Harry pocketed the random pieces and nodded. "Activation command?"

_//Morsmordre//_ he hissed, and Harry rolled his eyes. Typical Voldemort. However, he couldn't deny the chill down his spine and suddenly wished he could hear how Parseltongue sounded through the ears of a non-speaker. "Now, care to tell me why the young Malfoy arrived with Severus?"

"The brat needs a dose of reality if he is to be of any use to us ever. He'll be coming with us."

"He will be a liability!"

Harry crouched down and picked up his invisibility cloak. "Not really. He'll have orders to stay against a wall in this. Let him see a real battle… let him witness death and blood and pain. He will come out better for it."

"You do know Lucius and Narcissa won't like this… as it is, Lucius was glaring something terrible at Severus."

Harry snorted. "Be that as it may, I say the boy comes. Let Lucius argue with me over it. It isn't like I'm having the boy take part in the fight; he's just going to be a spectator."

Voldemort inclined his head and turned on his heel to start out the door. "My Inner Circle is gathered. We leave now."

Harry nodded at the man's back and let out a mental sigh. Voldemort's attitude was distant and cold; he was obviously still pissed off at him from the week before. He would have to rectify that before the night was over. Something inside him twisted violently at the thought of the rift between them and made Harry have to will back the urge to wrap his arms around the Dark Lord until he was forgiven. He was _not_ a teenaged girl and he would not give into these silly impulses.

But he could not deny the pain the cold crimson eyes invoked.

* * *

It was disgustingly easy to break into the Ministry of Magic.

Harry had thought that perhaps they had learned their lesson after Voldemort had been in the Department of Mysteries, but apparently not. They were able to enter without interference only an hour after normal Ministry hours while over half of the Aurors in Wizarding Britain were in the same building. It was nearly laughable that so many put their faith into such incompetents.

Harry walked alongside Voldemort through the empty Atrium and past the empty desk where the watchwizard should have been. In Harry's fifth year, he had thought it was foreboding that the desk had been empty, but apparently it was regular procedure. Harry sneered in grim amusement. Oh, the things they would change when they had control. No longer would the British Ministry of Magic be a laughingstock amongst other territories.

There were still a few memos flying here and there erratically, the only sign that the Ministry was not utterly abandoned. Harry and Voldemort paused at the lift to allow their Death Eaters to catch up with them, as the phone booth only comfortably fit two at a time. Harry folded his arms and reclined against the lift doors, green eyes settled on the side of Voldemort's reptilian face. The man had yet to respond to Harry's usual banter, instead giving curt orders and giving of an aura of frostiness that had the Death Eaters wary.

Harry, of course, was immune.

Harry knew this battle was important for several reasons. First of all, it was his going to be his first fight alongside the Inner Circle. Though perhaps he had Lucius and Severus softly swaying to his point of view, that still left all three Lestranges, Dolohov, and Macnair that were now aware of his identity and were present. Since the revelation of his true identity, he needed something concrete for them to see that he was not to Golden Boy they had encountered the summer before, he had to show them that he was well capable and qualified to be the partner to their leader.

Secondly, this was a chance to take out their most organized opposition. The Aurors were foolish to have meetings that put almost all of their higher ranks in one place. Though there would still several dozen Aurors remaining after this battle, most were inexperienced or inept. This would take away their structure and send morale into negative numbers. After the massacre of their numbers on Halloween, this assault would nearly cripple them.

And thirdly, the Wizarding world would know after this battle that the Dark Sect was not to be toyed with. They would see that their precious leaders could do nothing to save even their strongest fighters, twice now in a matter of months. They would see the incompetence of the influential and doubts would take root in their mind as to the outcome of the war. It would perhaps not convince them, but it would surely go a long way to making the misgivings take hold.

Harry watched as Voldemort stared at the entry where the last of his Inner Circle, Rookwood, Dolohov, and Macnair had finally entered the Atrium. He wanted to say something-- anything-- to make the man break out of the cold, aloof persona he was currently exuding, but the words seemed lost to him. It was hardly the time, he knew, to start a conversation like the one they needed to have, but Harry couldn't stand the sudden fissure that seemed to have opened up between them. So he had forgotten about the stupid second prophecy. So what? He hardly put stock in the things to begin with, why did it really matter? Prophecies only came true because of those involved making them do so. It was silly for Voldemort to be so frigid in response to something so petty. They had been doing nearly _well_ before then…

"Move out of the way, Potter," a sudden sneering voice said, making Harry blink his eyes rapidly. He had apparently been a bit more lost in thought than he'd realized. Bellatrix Lestrange stood before him with a haughtily raised eyebrow. "Or do you plan to block the lift all night?"

Harry's eyes narrowed and he took a step towards her, pleased to note he was actually taller than she was. His height was eternally a sensitive issue with him. "What's that _Bella_? Did you say something? Because all I heard was, '_Cruciate me, my lord, because I'm an insolent bitch_.'"

The dark-eyed woman drew herself up with a rage-filled expression only to back down immediately as Voldemort stepped up to his side. "Stand down, Bella, and show respect to your superiors. Shall we, Potter?"

"We shall," Harry said with a dark grin. He looked forward to the massacre to come. They boarded the lift and Harry made his way towards a scowling Lucius; the man's scowl didn't lessen as Harry approached. For a moment, Harry couldn't place why Lucius would bet hacked off at him, until he ran into an unseen obstacle.

"Omph!"

Harry started before a crooked smile settled. "Oh, I'd forgotten about you."

Lucius' displeased frown deepened. "I do not appreciate your sanctioning of my son's presence."

Harry sighed and opened his senses to be able to keep notice of where Draco was at all times as he made his way to Lucius, standing shoulder to shoulder with the man he considered something like a friend. "I am not asking him to take part in the battle, Lucius, and it is no offense meant to you, but your son badly needs a dose of reality. His petty grievances against me grow tiresome, and his belief in his superiority will get him killed. If he is to be of use to Voldemort or me, and if you expect him to live through this war, he needs this."

The frown had melted into a contemplative look by the time Level Two was announced. Harry cast a silencing charm on Draco to make sure he stayed hidden and gave the spot where the young blond was a serious look. "Stay behind us all and stay to a wall. Against one of the magical windows would be good, a corner even better. Keep your wand out and ready to cast shields at all times. Do not try to do anything other than that. Do you understand, Little Pretty?"

Belatedly, Harry realized the blond was silenced, but figured the blond was going to obey anyway. Harry nodded to him and walked towards where Voldemort was waiting with a blank look, crimson eyes empty. "Would you like to enter first or after the Death Eaters?"

Harry gave a coy smile and linked his arm through the Dark Lord's. "I'd say we make an entrance, dear Tom. Don't you think?"

Harry was pleased when Voldemort did not pull away, though the man did nothing but nod. "Alright then. Macnair, remember to set wards in place to keep any from escaping."

The two stood side by side at the closed double doors that separated them from over half the Aurors of the British magical world, the utter silence suggesting a silencing charm was in place. Voldemort raised his pale yew wand and without even an incantation the doors blew open in a suitably dramatic way, making Harry smile viciously.

The cubicles had been replaced by a long table, over three dozen Aurors surrounding it. Harry knew the odds were against them, but they had the element of surprise, skill, and no qualms against bringing about the deaths of those present. In fact, it was preferable. None would leave the room alive but for those he and Voldemort chose for interrogation.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise a he took in several unanticipated people around the table. Apparently the Order was more actively involved with the Ministry since they had finally acknowledged Voldemort's return, because Mundungus Fletcher sat very near the door. Other than the annoying con artist, whom Harry would enjoy killing and marked mentally off as his, Harry saw Emmeline Vance, Hestia Jones, and, most surprising and mildly upsettingly, Remus Lupin.

Harry made a mental note that despite what the portkeys were meant to be used for, one of his was going to go to the werewolf. It would certainly be informative, and despite their relative disconnection to one another and his letter from months prior, Harry couldn't bring himself to willfully see him dead. Harry drew his blackthorn wand and smirked viciously at the startled, gaping faces of their soon-to-be victims.

Chaos ensued.

The Voldemort and Harry each picked raised their wands and cast Killing Curses randomly, taking out half a dozen of the opposition before they even managed to break their shock. When the volley began, Harry lost himself in the feeling of dodging and twisting to evade the bolts of light sent towards them, firing off curses left and right. Most of the Death Eaters were using the Killing Curse mainly, as they needed to take down the numbers as quickly as possible. However, he did notice Bellatrix holding some poor fool under the Cruciatus as her shrill laugh echoed over the din.

Harry was startled when a young witch tried to bodily tackle him, overly thick light brown hair falling haphazardly out of her ponytail. She cast a Body-Bind at him as she recovered, which Harry easily blocked with silent _Protego_. He fired off a Killing Curse and was pleased when the girl managed to evade it, heart-shaped face set with grim determination. She was willful and fiery, and Harry was amused by her immediately. He also had not fed that day, and the scent of blood and the panicked heartbeats of the room's inhabitants were beginning to effect him.

Harry had the young brunette pinned against him in a smooth motion, his back to the wall and his eyes peering over her shoulder and watching Auror after Auror fall to the elite soldiers of the Dark Lord. He laughed lightly and tightened his arms around her to cease her struggles. "Don't you see? You cannot win. You didn't have a chance from the beginning. Silly girl… you really thought you could fight?"

He relished in the painfully fast staccato of her heart, the quickening of her breath as she stuttered out what would be her last words in a rather brave display. "You may win here, but the Dark will never conquer the Light."

"Even in the brightest day, the shadows linger, my dear. But darkness… darkness is consuming and corroding. It _swallows_ the light. As we will swallow up all of your petty resistance."

Her breathing hitched and muscles clenched as Harry sunk his fangs into her neck, both of them unnoticed in the heat of battle. Harry kept his eyes from sliding shut as he drank, watching the battle through a haze of bliss. It was so pleasing to feel the girl's heart rate drop and not have to pull away, to feel the very life pulled from her and into himself. He nearly cringed away from the thought of relishing in death as much as he was, but his mind was currently too occupied to dwell on it.

He watched Voldemort effortlessly cutting down Aurors on all sides, standing nonchalantly with his wand moving rapidly with bright green rays of death emitting from it. Curses were shot at him continuously but he had some manner of Dark shield surrounding him that seemed to absorb them. Harry decided he needed to ask about that; it would come in handy, he was sure.

On the far side of the room, Harry cringed as he saw the bloodied form of Rabastan Lestrange dueling against Remus Lupin. He knew the man was a talented wizard, and since the full moon was still nearly two weeks away he had none of his usual lethargy to deal with.

Harry tossed the girl to the side as he finished draining her and made his way towards them, killing those that got in his way. There were barely more than a handful of Aurors remaining and most of the Death Eaters were contenting themselves to play with the residual opposition. When Arthur Weasley appeared in front of him, Harry paused only momentarily to wonder why the man had been present… then he remembered that his department was linked to the Department of Magical Law enforcement enough that his office was not far off the main room. The man shouted a curse and Harry reeled back as it surprised him enough to leave a gash down the length of his arm. Harry hadn't thought the timid man had it in him.

Harry chuckled and fired off a Cruciatus, watching the man writhe and feeling little compunction for doing so. "Good job, Weasley," Harry said dryly as he released the Unforgivable. "That actually bloody well hurt."

"It should have hit your neck!" Arthur yelled shakily.

Harry laughed again. "Wow, I wouldn't have guessed. I'd kill you, but I think you have information we might seek. Feel lucky." Harry stunned the man before he could reply and placed the portkey on his neck. It would be activated once he had decided on the others he meant to be spared. While he really had no particular feelings toward the man, his friendship with Ron -- even if it was strained -- dictated that he didn't kill the man himself.

Harry continued back on his path towards where Rabastan and Remus were dueling, seeing Remus had managed to cast an _Incarcerous_ on the Death Eater; he was the first to actually manage more than superficial damage on one.

Harry fired a Blood Boiling curse at the werewolf as he moved towards his captive, effectively turning his attention towards Harry. He saw the moment the man's senses told him that he was facing a vampire and smirked. "Sorry, wolfie, I can't let you do that."

"_Expecto Patronum_," Remus hissed, calling out his Patronus to help defend him. While they were only effective against creatures like Dementors and Lethifolds, they were a reasonable help against any Dark creature. They couldn't harm, but they were enough of a deterrent that it tended to buy time. It couldn't harm the caster, though, and Harry smiled pleasantly as he prepared to cast his own. However, he noticed the shape of Remus' Patronus and froze for a brief moment.

The silvery Grim was growling at him, hackles up and ghostly teeth bared. Harry remembered that for years he couldn't decipher the shape of Remus' Patronus, and now it made his heart clench. Years and years had passed since he had watched his godfather fall through that veil, but still it hurt. He counted Sirius as more of a loss than his parents had ever been; he had known Sirius, after all. Perhaps not well and perhaps not for long, but he had been a real, tangible being, someone who had hugged him and made Harry feel like he had a parent for the first time in his life.

Harry resumed casting, pushing away the painful thoughts and waiting for his Patronus to escape his wand. He expected the fox he had discovered it to have become after a few years in Sceaduwe and had no reservations about revealing it, but his breath caught in his throat as the shape was revealed.

His bloody Patronus had changed _again_.

And this time… Harry had no confusion as to why it had changed or what it was to represent.

The sleek panther stood proudly before him, ears pinned back and tail flicking from side to side. Harry was pale as he watched the ghostly apparition stare down the large dog before it, his mind racing. Damn. _Damn_. This was complicated, and he knew it. He was relatively glad that it hadn't become a basilisk or some other telling creature, and he was sure no one but him would know who the panther represented… but how often had he, in his mind, compared the man's gait and calculating ferocity to a panther, after all?

Harry just hoped Voldemort didn't notice or realize the symbolism.

However, whether Voldemort noticed or not was negligible. The problem was what the changing of his Patronus represented, and Harry was very much not willing to face that at the moment.

Harry's lack of focus led to Remus casting a full Body-Bind curse that Harry didn't block, and Harry swore fluently -- and unfortunately mentally -- at the werewolf for using his distraction to his advantage. But just as quickly as Lupin was able to get him with the spell, a furiously hissed _Crucio_ resounded nearby and sent the werewolf to his knees.

His wand still trained on Remus, Voldemort waved a hand to release Harry from the Body-Bind and turned crimson eyes on him even as the werewolf screamed. Voldemort was glaring. "What was _that_ all about, Potter?"

Harry glared back as the werewolf's screams broke long enough for amber eyes to swivel to him, obviously having heard the Dark Lord. "Damnit, Tom, you're going to have to figure out a better way to address me in public."

Voldemort released the Cruciatus and waved his hand, calling Harry's attention to the room. "No one else is alive or conscious, Potter. It is only us, the Death Eaters, and this mangy excuse for a wizard. No matter for him, because he is about to die, isn't he?" Voldemort said with a discomfiting grin. "_Avada…_"

Harry lurched forward and placed a hand on Voldemort's arm. "No! Wait, I think we should keep him for questioning."

Voldemort stopped the incantation but didn't lower his wand. "Why?"

Remus was looking back and forth between them, a betrayed look on his face that Harry refused to acknowledge. "He is a member of the Order, surely he would have some interesting revelations for us?"

Voldemort looked at Lupin before raising an eyebrow at Harry. "And the fact he is the werewolf you were in a strop about in October has nothing to do with it?"

Harry refused to look away. "No. My personal feelings on the matter are meaningless."

Voldemort waved a hand for him to place the portkey around Remus's neck, and Harry met the werewolf's eyes as he stepped away. _//Morsmordre.//_

* * *

Symbolism for the Panther -- "The panther often signals a time of rebirth after a period of suffering and death on some level" … "a time of moving from mere poles of existence to new life without poles or barriers." - Ted Andrews. After all, what does Voldemort symbolize but the breaking of laws, rules, and beliefs? ;)

Revised 3/20/09


	27. Dysregulation

Disclaimer: I does not own. I does not want to. Would be shite if I owned. XD

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Dysregulation // impairment of a physiological regulatory mechanism_

* * *

Draco Malfoy felt like he was going to throw up.

All around him screams resonated and blood was spilt, and Draco could do nothing but stare as the bodies piled up around him. There, to his left, the mother of a Hufflepuff girl in his year, glassy eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling. The screams of a boy who had graduated from Gryffindor a few years prior echoed as the Dark Lord held him under a curse. His Aunt Bellatrix's high-pitched cackle as she fired rapid Killing Curses around her without pause.

Draco badly wanted to be sick. Bile burnt the back of his throat, but somehow he was unable to react. He stared, morbidly fascinated as a curse Potter fired opened dozens of long lashes across a middle-aged man's body, blood oozing out even as the man's eyes rolled back into his head and he fell limply to the ground. He didn't even notice that one of the Death Eaters had fired the sickly yellow Cruciatus and had missed their mark until he was already on the ground writing in pain.

It hurt. Oh, how it _hurt_. He had heard descriptions of the pain of the Cruciatus before, but nothing could possibly hope to describe the pain. He felt as if his skin was being ripped from his body. He screamed so loudly that he was sure he was ripping vocal chords, but as the silencing spell was still over him not a sound was heard, even to his own ears. Draco could hardly see as the curse went on, back bowed off the ground and he wished so badly that the invisibility cloak revealed him only so he could be freed from the pain.

And suddenly his mental pleas were answered; Draco could only assume that whomever's curse it had been had fired off a new one and cancelled the one they hadn't been aware had found a mark. Draco became aware of tears streaming down his cheeks as he forced himself up, looking for an escape route. He didn't need to see anymore, he wanted out. This was too much to take in, too much to bear.

He watched as Potter seized a girl -- a Ravenclaw who had graduated only the year before -- and whispered in her ear, her eyes wide in terror. When Potter sunk glistening fangs into the girl's throat, Draco finally gave into the urge to vomit, collapsing weakly again to his knees. He couldn't take his eyes away as his schoolyard rival took the life of the girl he had known, _known_… she had been a childhood friend of Pansy's, though a halfblood, with a sarcastic wit he had found amusing despite her tainted lineage. And then her eyes dulled and Potter tossed her aside without a care and began firing curses to take the lives of the Aurors remaining once more.

This was the honorable cause his father had lauded? This was what Death Eaters were? Draco had little care for the actual lives that were lost… but how could they _stomach_ it? The dying wails, the screams of pain, the blood that was splashed even over his father's expensive robes. Entrails and excrement, the smell of burning flesh overriding even the thick metallic scent of blood. Vomiting had done little to settle his stomach; he wanted out _now._

He ran for the door, legs shaking so badly that he had to grip the wall for support as he stepped over the bodies of the fallen Aurors. He didn't care, he wanted… no, _needed_ out. The door was only feet away when he hit the ward, the invisible barrier sealing all the room's inhabitants in. Draco screamed under the silencing charm and pounded at it with his fists, willing it to _let him through_.

He turned to whip off the invisibility cloak and demand he be let free when his eyes caught his father, hair splayed around his shoulders and a few specks of blood on one cheek. Usually grey eyes were as bright as Draco's own as he towered over the prone form of some random Auror, lips moving in spell after spell. Draco had never seen his father look more alive than he was in that moment.

Draco hardly noticed that his queasiness was fading as he took a few absent steps forward, entranced. His father was filthy, his hair falling out of its tie chaotically, and he was smiling - _smiling_! He was currently exhibiting everything Draco had been taught that Malfoys did not do… and enjoying it. What was he missing in this equation? What wonders wasn't he seeing that could cause his stiff father to become this man?

And so Draco forced his erratic breathing to even out and he watched the remaining minutes of the battle with new eyes.

* * *

"Play with the bodies however you feel the need, Antonin," Voldemort hissed, out, his eyes not leaving Harry. "Make sure there are no survivors then come to my office. All of you."

A chorus of affirmation rose up around the room, and Harry let Voldemort grip his uninjured arm before Apparating them directly into Riddle Manor, as he was the only one to be able to get them anywhere but the meeting room and the entrance. He stepped away from Voldemort as they arrived, and Harry looked over at the prone form of Hermione. He sighed, running a hand over his face. "Bloody night isn't over yet."

He wasn't expected to be spun around hard crimson eyes narrowed to slits in anger. "What in the hell was that back there? You just stood there and let the wolf hit you! What if it had been something more serious than a Body-bind?! Foolish idiot, don't tell me your damned Gryffindor nobility is showing through again--"

Harry cut him off by glaring back, ripping his arm from the other man's grip. "Being a Gryffindor had nothing to do with it, Tom. I was distracted, and it was stupid. Now don't lecture me like a child!"

"If you're going to act like a child, I'm going to treat you like one!"

"Careful, Tom, or one might begin to think you care."

"I don't care about anything but winning this war!"

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks," Harry retorted with a nasty sneer.

Voldemort was eternally Harry's weak point, no matter what point in his life you looked at it. He didn't even have time to react before spindly fingers wrapped around his throat and bodily slammed him into the wall, snarling mouth inches from his own. Harry was certainly the more powerful of the two physically, but the shock of the Dark Lord manhandling him caught Harry off guard. "Now listen here, Potter," Voldemort sneered. "I am not in the mood for your shit. If you're too soft to deal with the werewolf just say so, but keep your damned delusions to yourself."

Harry smiled ruefully, ignoring the tightening hand on his throat and letting out a chuckle. "How I wish I had your powers of denial."

"Wha--?" Harry shut him up the best way he know how: he kissed him.

Harry felt the instant the man lost his hold on his transformation, proving Harry's theory at least in part. He had become suspicious after their last fight when Voldemort had become Tom, knowing the man didn't usually choose to be in his natural form unless he was quite alone and wanted to enjoy a luxurious shower. Harry didn't know what it was, exactly, that triggered it, but it seemed to him that Voldemort was unable to remain in control of his Metamorphmagus abilities when dealing with Harry.

The hand on Harry's throat slackened and Harry took advantage by yanking Tom closer, hands rising to thread through dark hair. The surprisingly tender kiss quickly gained in intensity with Tom pressing Harry into the wall, his hands sliding down Harry's back and gripping his backside. Harry moaned and tightened his hold on the man's head, arching towards him desperately.

Harry wanted to deny it. He wished more than anything that it wasn't true, that he could pretend he felt nothing. He wrapped his legs around slim hips and let Tom's leverage against him keep him pinned to the wall, trailing his lips over the strong jaw to nip at his ear. No matter the denial he wished he could manage, no matter the feelings of despondency the knowledge provoked, Harry couldn't lie to himself.

He was in love with Tom.

No matter the form he was in, no matter the name he called himself, Harry was hopelessly enamored with the man whose quiet moans were currently sounding in his ear, whose heat was radiating through his clothing. The pain in his bloodied arm faded behind the haze of passion growing between the two men, hips involuntarily arching forward in search of more. More contact, more sensation, more _heat_… Harry groaned as Tom darted forward and captured his lips again, pressing so close to him that Harry wondered if they could melt into one another, fade into a singular being as breathing became negligible.

A rather choked gasp pulled both of their attention, breaking the intensity of their moment and making both of their heads whip towards the noise. Harry merely raised an eyebrow while Tom stiffened, the sight of Voldemort's entire Inner Circle plus the now visible Draco standing in the opened double-doorway either pissing him off or mortifying him. Harry wasn't sure.

He stared nonplussed at the slack-jawed minions, not bothering to lower his legs or release the slightly graying hair. "Yes?" he said, drawing out the s with an arch look.

Lucius was the first to break the stupor, his eyes darting quickly between the two of them before he bowed low. "We have completed our task, my lords," he paused and turned his eyes specifically to Voldemort. "And may I congratulate you, my lord, on reclaiming your youthful appearance?"

Tom smacked Harry's thigh in an obvious signal to lower his legs, which Harry did regretfully. He also pulled his hands out of the Dark Lords hair, making sure to subtly comb it down with his fingers into a semblance of its usual tidy style. No need to piss Tom any more than usual, after all. The man subtly adjusted his robes across his front before turning to face his minions.

"You may, Lucius," Tom said with a cold smirk, not bothering to transform once more into his alternative persona. "I would like a report on my desk by tomorrow evening detailing any problems that arose tonight. Any information pulled from the Aurors before their death is to be noted."

"My lord," Macnair said hesitantly, "what of the trivial babblings…"

"I think I will decide what is trivial, Walden," Tom hissed, taking a step forward.

Harry heard the heart rates of the Death Eaters speed up and used a hand to cover his amused smile. It seemed that seeing their lord appear human for the first time in decades had made them assume that he would be less than dangerous.

"Anything to say, Potter?"

Harry blinked at Tom, realizing the question hadn't been a sarcastic jab but an actual question. He shrugged, "Hum… actually, I'd like for Pretty to stay behind, if he would. Little Pretty as well, obviously. And… perhaps Rodolphus?"

Tom raised an eyebrow but nodded, turning a glare on the unmoving Death Eaters. "You heard him, didn't you? Are you as deaf as you are useless? Go!" he barked.

Immediately the group began dispersing, perfunctory bows given before they left the doorway. A nervous looking Rabastan pulled at the arm of his brother's wife, who was torn between looking appreciatively Tom and glaring death at Harry. Severus paused before walking back to Harry, fishing in the pocket of his robes and thrusting a potions vial forward with a blank look.

Harry cocked his head. "What's this for?"

"Your arm, my lord."

Harry started and glanced down, finally remembering the gash Arthur Weasley had made down the length of his left arm. Though the material was ripped, much of the damage was hidden by the dark material. Harry shrugged off the robe and noticed how much blood was staining the white shirt under, still not feeling any real pain from the wound despite the fact that wet blood still slowly seeped from the long cut.

Harry took the potion with a small smile to Severus, who only nodded and swept from the room, and Tom strode towards him with a fierce look. "Did the wolf do that to you?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "No, Tom. It was actually Arthur Weasley."

Lucius looked very excited and actually began leaning forward a bit, eyes expectant. "Weasley, my lord?"

"Yes, Lucius, I kept you behind to give you the good news. You have free reign over him; he should be in one of the dungeon cells now. Don't damage him too much until you've gotten the proper information from him, though, he is a higher ranking Order member after all."

Lucius bared his teeth in a feral grin and nodded, glancing at his silent son before sweeping from the room.

Harry ignored the younger Malfoy for a minute and turned to Rodolphus. "I don't know you well, but you seem to be the sanest of the lot." Tom snorted and Harry gave a smirk. "So I need you to do me a favor. Get to Rita Skeeter and give her a summation of our raid. Let her twist it however she pleases, but she's a bloodthirsty bint and will grab onto any scrap you give her. I want to be sure this isn't going to be brushed over."

Rodolphus inclined his head. "As you wish, my lord. I am honored to have been chosen."

"Be sure to include how disgustingly easy it was, and that the Dark Lords have no opposition," Tom hissed, a wicked smirk on his handsome face. "She will suitably dramatize it."

Rodolphus left after some profuse bowing, leaving Harry, Tom, and Draco in the room. Harry was pleased with how silent and respectful the younger Malfoy was being, though hit could easily be attributed to the presence of Voldemort. Harry looked at him for a long moment before speaking, hand on hip. "Was your experience eye opening?"

The blond's throat convulsed in a swallow before he spoke. "Y-Yes my lord."

Harry nodded, satisfied that something had gotten through to Draco. He waved a hand. "Give me my cloak then Floo yourself home. Hug your mother or something and then use that Floo connection you were on about months ago to get back to Hogwarts. Rest and see me tomorrow; we'll be holding our public truce then."

Draco bowed respectfully and held out Harry's cloak with slightly trembling hands. Harry's nose wrinkled at the smell of it; apparently the blond had gotten sick. It was a natural reaction, but it was no less unpleasant because of it. He shot a quick _Scorgify_ at the cloak before shrinking and pocketing it, looking back up to see only Tom and Hermione's inert form left in the room.

Tom was staring at him, a strange contemplative look in his eyes, seeming puzzled by his own thoughts. Harry understood that, and suddenly his mental admittance came back to him. He was in love with Voldemort, the previous bane of his existence, murderer of his parents, and harbinger of death and destruction. But none of that mattered. To Harry, Tom was just an often ill-tempered man with a penchant for driving Harry round the twist… who listened when he ranted about meaningless things and confided in him things Harry knew he had never talked with anyone about. He was the man who didn't like getting up in the mornings and knew what Harry's facial expressions meant, who ran hot and cold like a tap but always left Harry coming back for more.

And for the first time, Harry understood just what he had gotten himself into and didn't care. He still had no concept of the _why_ or the _how_ or even the _what_ of it all… but he did see that he was hopelessly in love with the man still observing him with dark crimson eyes. Dante would be pleased with him, he thought dryly, and wondered if this revelation and enduring the taunts about it would be enough of an apology for his abysmal attitude two weeks prior.

Harry eyes wandered to Hermione and he sighed mentally. He needed to see what was wrong with her and how to fix it quickly, because her absence would be noted soon. As it was he was treading a dangerous line, and Ron would have noticed they had been gone. He suddenly wished he had a time-turner to erase the last couple of hours. He would probably have to Obliviate Ron come morning to save his secret, and he only prayed that the redhead hadn't told anyone of their absence.

"Tom?" Harry said, moving his eyes back to his… lover? Perhaps. "Could you take a look at her for me? I just don't have the spell repertoire you do."

Tom blinked rapidly and lost the thoughtful look, eyes cutting over to where Hermione's bushy head was cushioned on her school cloak. Harry could see the disdain plainly and knew Tom was thinking him terribly sentimental. And Harry knew he was as well. He may no longer have a friendship with those he had left behind those years ago, but the fondness he had had for them back then had left a permanent imprint on him.

Perhaps Hermione was bossy and annoying, but she was also understanding and had accepted him when few others would have. Perhaps Ron was hotheaded and jealous, but he was also fiercely loyal and caring. He couldn't turn off the emotions he still held for his first two friends. Even when they ended up against him, he wouldn't let them be killed. Locked away, perhaps, but killed? He couldn't fathom it. Even if he would never see them again, it would hurt far too much to know they were gone. And, though it was horribly selfish, Harry didn't care.

"You want me to tend to a Mudblood?"

Harry rolled his eyes emphatically. "Tom, shut up. She is one of the smartest and more magically powerful witches in Hogwarts right now. If even she would be discounted for her blood, where would that leave the Purebloods? Deformed squib children are not preferable."

"Fine," Tom said with a wave of his hand. "I'll look into what could be wrong with your Mudblood. Now, are you going to deal with your wolf now or later?"

Harry clenched his jaw and looked away, sighing. "I'll go now."

"Fine. By the time you get back I should be able to tell you what to do with _her_."

Harry didn't bother answering and swept from the room casting a few charms on his shirt to remove the blood and fix the long rip along the sleeve. The wound had only scabbed over and still stung a bit, but it was hardly a problem. It was nearly midnight and the Manor was quite empty, and Harry met no one on his trek to the dungeons.

It was dark there, but a whispered _Lumos _corrected the problem. Harry could hear no screams, but as each cell was silenced it wasn't a surprise. Somewhere down there, he knew Lucius was toying with Arthur, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The man had been kind to him, but meant very little in the scope of things. He would give them information and die, simple as that.

Harry stopped in front of the iron door that his senses told him a werewolf was behind, keeping his wand out as he chanted the password spell that only a few were privy to. His wand out, Harry entered, face blanked.

Remus looked up from the corner he was curled in, a violent snarl fading as he saw who was entering. Remus didn't move or speak, merely watched as Harry entered and sealed the door once more before leaning back against it.

The silence stretched between them, Harry watching his former professor for any sudden movements. He had few qualms against harming Lupin despite his connection to his parents should he attempt to harm him.

It was Remus who broke the silence, in a quiet tone Harry supposed was meant to induce guilt. "What have you done?"

"Exactly what circumstances dictated, Professor."

There was a shuffling, and Harry watched through the darkness as Remus pulled himself up to sit. "This is what you've become? I wondered after your letter, but I never imagined…"

"What," Harry asked coolly, "that I might wake up someday? That I might rebel against my place in this war?"

"_Voldemort_, Harry? He killed your parents!"

"Your point being? Do you think I'm an idiot? I assure you that I'm not. I know what Voldemort has done and what kind of a man he is. Deaths are a part of war."

"But Harry--"

"Do you think I should weep and cry and bemoan the loss of people I never knew? Do you think I should fall in line like a good boy and fight a war for a bunch of ungrateful sods too cowardly to do anything themselves?"

"No… no, Harry I don't. But surely you understand how important it is for Voldemort to be defeated..."

"If I agreed with that do you think I would be working with him?" Harry said dryly, raising an eyebrow. At the man's hurt look, Harry sighed and ran his free hand over his face. "Either you're with me or you're against me, Moony. I won't apologize for who I am now, especially to someone I hardly know. You're a good man but honestly? You're very little other than a friend of my parents and my old professor."

Remus flinched and looked away, quiet for long minutes. Harry let him think. He didn't honestly want to hurt the werewolf, but he would. He wanted information and Remus probably had quite a bit on Dumbledore's plans for magical creatures. He wouldn't have much use, otherwise. Harry admitted it was mawkish of him to have used one of his portkeys on the man in the first place, but it had been worth a shot.

When the werewolf finally spoke, he didn't look at Harry, instead staring at his hands as he clasped nd unclasped them in turn. "What would Sirius think of you now, Harry?"

Harry sucked in a breath and snarled, raising his wand. "_Crucio_."

As Remus screamed, Harry smiled vindictively. That had been a low blow even to him, and he held the curse probably a bit longer than was safe to do so. But as he released it and watched Remus gasp for air, he relaxed entirely and chuckled, catching the werewolf off guard. The quick shock of anger that had run through him was gone, and Harry smiled a bit nostalgically down at Remus. "He's dead, Moony. He is dead and not coming back… so why does it matter what he'd think?"

"H-Harry--"

"Is saying my name so often comforting to you? Or is it to remind you of who I am? Yes, I am Harry James Potter, but I am also Lord Mylläkkä. You will not change that, and even if my mother, father, and Sirius all walked through that door this instant it would not change. _They are dead_, Remus. Can you understand that? I am not James, I never even knew James, and I certainly don't want to be a bullying bigoted arse like him. And Sirius? Sirius was a thirty-six year old man perpetually stuck in the mentality of a teenager. Azkaban ruined his growth and his mind. I loved him, surely, but I loved the idea of him much more. And now he is gone, and his opinion of me with him."

Remus stared straight into his eyes as Harry spoke, his look quickly disintegrating from foolish hope to grief. Harry just watched him silently before turning to the door.

"You have chosen your path. May you rest easily with my parents. I will order your death to be swift once you've given the information we need."

Without looking back, Harry left the cell, sealing the door again with hard eyes. It was better this way, anyway.

* * *

Harry had taken a walk around the decrepit manor before going back to Tom's study, feeling much more clear-headed. He felt no remorse for effectively signing Remus's death warrant. This was war, and though the man had been kind to him, he felt much about him the way he did about Arthur Weasley. He would remember them vaguely, but they had little meaning otherwise. Remus was too soft to have been a Death Eater anyway; he was the man, after all, who had sacrificed his own morals and kept silent just to keep his friends. He was nearly as much of a coward as Pettigrew had been, though much more loyal.

Harry entered Tom's study to find the man leaning over Hermione with a fascinated look, a quill and parchment hovering beside him taking notes. Harry knew the look he bore; it was the same one he got when an interesting book was in front of him or he saw someone use a spell he hadn't seen before. Harry sighed and knew suddenly that the situation was much more complicated than a botched possession.

"Harry! Come look at this, it's really quite intriguing!" Harry jolted at the use of his first name, staring dumbfounded at the back of Tom's dark head. Did the man even realize he'd done it? It was confirmed that the man hadn't when he turned impatiently. "Come on, Potter!"

Harry shook himself and walked forward, glancing at the paper.

_-- Minor but irreparable damage to the Hippocampus_

_-- Focal bilateral damage to the ventromedial prefrontal cortex_

_-- Immoderate left amygdala activity… possible Emotional dysregulation _

_-- Abnormalities in the temporal lobes, thalamus, and hypothalamus_

_-- Disparity in memory sequences, possibly correlated with dysregulation_

Harry stared blankly at the paper. He liked to consider himself an intelligent man but… he only understood half of those words. Even the words he did understand gave him little knowledge more than the rough translation of 'broken brain-things', which was embarrassingly like the words going through his mind.

He turned his blank look at Tom who huffed and crossed his arms. "There is so much minor damage there, but I think she would have been fine. Some might have been preexisting damage, other occurring sometime recently, but nothing was overly serious. But combined, it points towards extravagant spurts of violence and temper. The excessive amygdala activity is associated with an emotional response that is poorly modulated, making the person have reactions that do not fall within the conventionally accepted range of emotive response. All in all, you have an emotionally unstable witch with overly aggressive tendencies who is still capable of learning and retaining knowledge!"

Harry thought he understood some of that. Apparently, Hermione was unhinged and violent, yet still smart. Check. He nodded. "But what _caused_ it? And how do I fix it?"

Tom shifted his weight, eyes far-off. "Cause? From the gaps in her memory, I'd have to blame her being Obliviated. The solution? There's no way that I know of even with magic to correct such extensive damage. There's a potion to help ease issues with memory loss, though that's usually for natural causes, but it might help her be more stable. Other than that, I don't see any remedy. It really is fascinating, though, I've never seen a functioning mind so utterly ravaged. There's cases like the Longbottoms in which less damage made the victim unable to perform, but I've never…"

Tom continued, Harry thought, but he had stopped listening some time ago. An Obliviate had ruined her mind… and it was incurable.

He had broken Hermione.

* * *

A/N: BROKEN BRAIN THING! Me has that. Me readed neurobiology for too many times and brain is brokie. Oww.

So, Hermione's nuts. XD -dances- I love her nuts personality, and I plan to play with her excessively. Love and credit for sparking this idea and helping me in the early stages of her development goes to **BladesoftheValkyrie**. Brilliance!

Revised: 3/20/09


	28. Monitory

Disclaimer: I does not own. I does not want to. Would be shite if I owned. XD

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Monitory // communicating a warning_

* * *

"What are we going to do with her, then?" Potter interrupted his observations, obviously having no appreciation for the rarity of the subject. Tom pursed his lips in annoyance and glanced over at his partner. The boy had his arms crossed defensively and one of his fingers was tapping reflexively against his arm, and though his voice was steady, he was obviously forcing it. "I mean, even if I wished her dead, having her disappear would only create problems for me in Hogwarts. But as she is, she's a danger to my mission. I can't see a way out of this."

Tom snorted while keeping his eyes on the brat's face, whose gaze was still trained on the unconscious Mudblood. Potter was still far too sentimental, despite all the growing up he had done. He still had a Gryffindor moral streak half a mile wide and held attachments that would end up doing him more harm than good in the long run.

Not that Tom cared or anything, of course.

"We need to revive her and see the state of her mind before we can make any decisions. I have a few ideas that will spare your Mudbloods life."

Potter's eyes turned towards him, and Tom would deny the way his breathing caught at the effusive gratitude in them until the end of his days. He quickly looked away and shifted his weight uncomfortably, hating his own reaction. So what if the brat wore his heart on his sleeve? It shouldn't -- _didn't_ -- effect him whatsoever.

Those eyes finally looked away -- Tom could practically feel the moment they left -- and were once again trained on the ball of robes and masses of hair. Tom raised an eyebrow at the boy. "What is your problem?"

Potter's eyes shifted from the Mudblood the ground. One hand managed to uncurl enough to rake fingers through his over-long hair and Potter let out a long exhalation of air from his nose before turning to face him. "I did this. I intend to find a way to fix it."

"Merlin and Circe," Tom said with disbelief, "you have got to be the most maudlin shit I've ever encountered. Is it your blasted Gryffindor hero complex, or are you just inherently this much of a mug?"

Potter growled but didn't look away. "Perhaps you don't understand, Tom, but she is my friend. And by Obliviating her I caused this damage. I understand that we are on different sides in this war now, and I understand that our friendship might not be and may never be called a friendship again… but she was right there beside me through every angst-ridden moment in my younger years. She stayed by me no matter how complicated my life was. When I decided my place in this war, I knew that despite the fact that we would never be that close again, I would pay back my friends for all they'd done for me somehow. And how did I do it?" Harry snorted depreciatively and finally looked away. "I fucking ruined her."

Tom quirked an eyebrow though Potter was resolutely not looking at him. "Exactly how many times did you Obliviate her? You had to of known the consequences of so many missing memories."

Bright eyes turned once more towards him with a furrowed brow. "What? I only did it once a couple of weeks ago. What are you on about?"

Tom couldn't help the mocking chuckle that escaped his lips. "Such a Gryffindor. From what I've seen, she's been Obliviated no less than a dozen times in the last three years or so."

Immediately Potter spun around and pulled out his wand, pointing it at the girl and muttering the counter-curse to whatever spell he had placed her under. Tom wondered what the boy hoped to achieve; did he think he would be able to find out who had done the memory charms on her by asking? And if it was who Tom thought it was, it wouldn't be as simple as breaking the charm, as a powerful wizard could easily completely delete the memories rather than locking them away. Besides, Tom knew that Potter was too attached to allow the charms to be broken even if they were still there.

Brown eyes fluttered open before squeezing shut immediately with a groan of pain. Had Tom been a more expressive man, he might have tapped his foot in frustration, but instead just raised an eyebrow and walked forward to be standing above her. He would at least check to see what level the Obliviates were. "Well, girl, come on. I haven't got all night."

He saw the barest flash of a glare from Potter before he turned back to the awakening witch, face still strangely blank. When the girl -- Granger was her name, wasn't it? -- finally opened her eyes and focused, she began fumbling for her wand. Tom sneered down. "Nice try."

"Where am I?" she croaked, eyes flashing between him and Potter, "What do you want from me?"

Potter was still staring blankly, though now with a dose of confusion. "You don't remember?"

Tom cut in as the girl opened her mouth to speak. His voice was dispassionate; hell if he would show his interest to the Mudblood. "That would be because of the memory miscorrelation. I thought this might happen… she has effectively separated herself into two beings in order to function. All of the damage is foisted onto the other half to allow this one to work properly. However, you have seen what happens when she reaches the breaking point."

"Can that be fixed?"

Tom looked toward Potter and shook his head, though the younger man couldn't see him. "The potion I told you about will be able to soothe the damage to the hippocampus and bridge the memory gaps, which will allow her to retain knowledge learned between the two halves, but I know of no way to mend such a large amount of magically induced damage. There is no way the amygdala activity can be regulated, so there is no way to stop the rather explosive temper she has."

Granger was as white as a sheet now, brown eyes rounded. "Wh-What happened to me? I'm… brain damaged… No, no, no… you're lying. Both of you. Whoever you are. You can't be right…"

Tom wanted to curse the girl for her annoying hysterics. "Denial will get you nowhere, girl, so listen up. You have been placed under many heavy memory charms in the last two to three years, and I need to go into your mind to study them. After that, I will give you two potions that will allow you to function in a normal capacity. If you do not agree, you will die."

He knew Potter wouldn't contradict him, but he saw the way the brat's fists clenched. The brown eyes of the Granger girl were fixed on Tom's face, and he locked eyes with her with a smirk. He saw the moment her brain put together her circumstances with his threats and the vibrant shade of his eyes. She screamed, of course, and Tom's smirk widened enough to flash a perfect row of teeth before delving into her mind unannounced.

It took less than a minute for him to take in her mind, and he came out and shot a _Petrificus Totalus_ to cease her frenzied screams. He turned to Potter who was watching him with a calculated blankness. It didn't suit him, Tom thought, though he instantly banished the thought. "I am quite sure that the damage to the prefrontal cortex was something she has had for quite some time, possibly even from early childhood, though the rest of the damage seems to be caused by the frequent memory charms. You said you only did one?"

Potter nodded. "Yes, just a few weeks ago… she had been suspicious of me and getting too close to the truth."

"None of the damage is that recent. The only damage your Obliviate would have done was to exacerbate the existing ones; it likely would have happened without any help from you within a year or so, anyway. She was straddling the breaking point for quite some time. And the Obliviates were all done by a wizard powerful enough to completely remove the memories. I am sure you know what that means."

The girl had stopped her silent and still attempts to break the Body Bind by now and was watching them with confused eyes, but Tom ignored her. Potter nodded and gave him a half-smile. "Thank you, Tom. Now, you said _two_ potions?"

"Yes. The one to smooth out the memory that I told you about, and a second."

"And the second is…"

Tom waved a hand negligibly. "I had to see the state of her mind to see if she would be susceptible to the potion, and she will be. It is something generally thought of as a liquid version of the Imperius, though it really is not. It does not allow one to control a person, but it does allow a person to influence the mindset of the drinker. You will be the one to administer it to her, and if she begins to become overwhelmed again, all you need to do is manipulate her into calmness again. It should prevent outbursts such as the one from earlier this evening."

Potter, surprisingly, nodded his assent. "It will not affect her otherwise?"

"It shouldn't. You will have control of when you feel it necessary, knowing your stupid honor code that won't be often. However, all of this is contingent on whether you can convince her to keep your secrets, you know. I won't hesitate to kill her and leave her corpse on the edge of the Forbidden Forest otherwise."

Potter's eyes turned towards the Granger girl and Tom took that moment to leave the room; he needed to go to his potions lab and hope he had the ingredients to make the two potions. Usually he would call Severus for something like this, but he didn't want to raise Dumbledore's suspicions by pulling the man away twice in one night. Besides, it wasn't as if he was totally useless at Potions; he had been a prodigy at almost everything. He cast a _Tempus_ as he walked towards his laboratory, seeing that it was already two in the morning. Tom raked a hand down his face. Why was he losing an entire night of sleep for Potter and his Mudblood? They had about three hours before they would surely be missed, and Tom was actually willing to put aside rest to make sure they arrived safely. Yes, Potter's mission at Hogwarts was too important to compromise, but that didn't tell him why he wasn't just calling in a Death Eater to go to Knockturn and find pre-made, though likely inferior, versions of the potions so he could send the brat and the Granger girl away.

Tom gritted his teeth and resolutely ignored the little voice in his head telling him exactly why.

* * *

Harry stared into familiar brown eyes before casting a Finite to release her from her invisible bonds. She had been listening to the conversation and merely sat up with narrowed eyes, staring at his face intently instead of cowering away as many would have. Harry thanked Merlin for the girl's logical brain.

"Who are you?" It was a question, but Harry could tell by the look in her eyes that she already knew. Though his hair was to his waist and he was aged ten years, his facial shape remained the same, his eyes only a brighter shade of their distinctive green. Harry was under no illusions that either her or Ron could look at him in this form and not know who he was.

Harry sighed and gave her a weak smile before responding. "I'm going to tell you a story, Hermione, and I'd like it very much if you listened before judging."

She nodded slowly, eyes still mistrustful but a steely determination shining in them. "Don't leave anything out, Harry."

His smile turned wry and he began. He told from the end of his fifth year, through his trip back to the Dursley's, to meeting Valerian. He told her of the Immortal realm, of the training he received, of the people he met, of the relationships he formed. He stayed away from any romantic connotations, as they were unnecessary, but told her his life for the last ten years, of his revelations. He told her the dangers Dumbledore's ideals caused, of his agreement with Voldemort and even of his forgiveness of the man.

"There is death in war," he'd said simply. "And just because the deaths of my parents are personal to me, does that give me the right to loathe him for them when I have stood by his side and killed others?"

He went on to his alliance with Voldemort and his return to Hogwarts, even telling her the pain it had caused him to realize how much they had grown apart. Of his knowledge that they could never understand, that he would lose them.

"I would never expect you to side with me, Hermione," Harry said softly, looking at his hands now. "I only ask that you let me choose my own path. I would never let any harm come to you or Ron. Please, Hermione, don't stand in my way. Tom is not joking when he says he will kill you. And I know I would not be able to stop him without signing my own death warrant. Please don't make me choose between you."

She was silent as she prepared to answer, and Harry's attention was soon called to Tom as he swept into the room, hair slightly mussed. Harry held back a smile as he thrust forward two potion's vials. Tom seemed content to ignore Hermione entirely and settled crimson eyes on Harry. "Here."

"Already?" Harry said as he stood and stretched his arms, leaving Hermione to think as he and Tom walked over to his desk and sat in their usual places.

Tom swept his remarkably long fingers through his hair unconsciously, giving Harry an idea of why his usually perfectly ordered chin-length hair was currently in slightly fluffy, disheveled waves. "I used a time-turner once I'd finished at five in the morning," Tom scowled. "It took longer than I thought it would."

Harry blinked in surprise to learn that the Dark Lord had actually done it all himself, and had to dip his head to hide the fond smile that illustrated the warm feeling in his chest. Controlling his expression as best he could, he just met Tom's eyes, knowing a thank you would not be appreciated. "Thanks, Tom. You should go on to bed. I do know how you like your sleep."

"Rodolphus returned from the little job you set him on," Tom said with a sneer. "He was being an idiot, twitchy and awkward. You've ruined my followers."

Harry cracked a grin and winked at him. "I think we might need to distribute self-help manuals to your minions… like, '_So You've Caught the Dark Lord Snogging…_' or some such."

Tom scoffed and glared as well as he could through drooping eyes. "I think not. But you do realize the position you've put me in now? They are going to see me as weak; I will have to make it very clear that I am not."

"I think they realize that entirely, dear Tom. Besides, Lucius has known for weeks and hasn't acted any differently."

"What do you _mean_ that Lucius has known for weeks?" he hissed, eyes narrowed in a dangerous look. "I thought you had the capacity to be discreet, you little…"

"Shut up, Tom. In case you've forgotten, I was staying with them over Christmas, and staying out all night an coming back with _hickeys _was a bit of a giveaway, don't you think?"

Tom looked cowed for all of a moment before blanking out his face and shrugging. "Whatever."

"_Anyway_," Harry said while trying not to smirk victoriously. He really enjoyed Tom when he was tired; though he got more snippy than usual, he was also far looser with his tongue and slower with his wit. This all added together for immense entertainment on Harry's part. "They see you no differently."

A smirk. "That's what you think, Potter. You do realize the offers I am going to be receiving from Bellatrix once more? I had her convinced my other form was… unable to perform."

"Ah…" Harry tried not to think about it, because that would lead to him hunting down and killing Bellatrix. Tom wouldn't like that. "Well, Cruciate her a few times and all will be well, hmm?"

Harry nearly giggled as Tom opened his mouth to retort and yawned instead, a hand flying to cover his mouth. Again, Harry was forced to look away as a smile crossed his face without his permission. "Go to bed, Tom. I'll come back as soon as I'm sure there are no suspicions."

"Are you going to get your clothing out of my room?"

Harry paused and remembered his borrowing of Tom's clothing, looking down sadly at the comfortable trousers. "Must I?"

Tom was already walking towards the door. "Yes, Potter."

Harry cast a look at the silent Hermione, who was watching their exchange with raised eyebrows. Harry gave her a smirk and waved a hand. "Don't get any ideas, Hermione. I'll be back in just a moment."

She nodded slowly in return. "Alright, Harry. We have a lot to talk about still."

Harry sighed, knowing it was the truth but disliking it nonetheless. He hadn't had to talk to so much in months or longer.

As he followed Tom up the stairs, in order to keep his mind from backsliding to earlier that evening when they had been interrupted, Harry suddenly had an epiphany. "Hey, Tom? Why can't I use your time-turner? It would solve a lot of issues if Hermione and I could go back to earlier this evening instead."

Tom shook his head as he pushed open his bedroom door, failing to hide another yawn. "It's keyed to my blood, only I can use it."

Harry raised an eyebrow and pulled off the white button-down shirt and held his arm into Tom's line of vision, showing the jagged scar that remained there. "I'd say blood shouldn't be a problem, Tom."

"Hmm," Harry looked at the man and saw him crawling over his bedclothes and only halfway paying attention. "Fancy that. Do what you want, Potter."

Harry changed back into the ill-fitting clothing and snorted in disgust before turning to ask Tom just where the time-turner was… only to see crimson eyes already closed and breathing evened. Harry smiled widely as he took in Tom, one leg under the blanket and head not quite on the pillow. Peeking from the neck of his shirt was the time-turner, Harry noticed, and he crept over to pull it out.

As he placed the golden device around his neck he couldn't resist the urge to push dark strands behind Tom's ear. He smiled down at the man who just slept on, totally at odds with his own reputation as he slept soundly. Harry untwisted the blankets from Tom's legs and ignored the little voice in his head chiming that he was just as much of a schmaltzy git as Tom thought he was.

As he bent down to adjust Tom's pillow and pressed a kiss to the corner of the man's mouth, the gravity of how far gone he really was set in, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He looked down at him through lowered lashes and whispered a goodnight to the sleeping Dark Lord before sweeping up his school robes.

He found Hermione just where he'd left her, and a perfunctory glance around the room told him that she'd behaved herself and kept herself from snooping while left unattended. He sat down in front of her and crossed his legs, sighing tiredly. "Do I have your word, Hermione? I don't want to lose you this way, but I need to know now."

The sudden slap caught him off guard and stung, and Harry turned pained eyes on his childhood friend. She was glaring through a film of tears in her eyes, fists clenched at her side and trembling. "Harry James Potter… how dare you even need to ask? How dare you think I would _ever_ turn you away? Do you have so little faith in me?" A sob broke from her throat and she lunged forward against him, shoulders shaking.

Immediately, Harry had flashbacks to Cho in his fifth year, and he felt as awkward now as he had then. He patted her back slowly as she cried into his chest, mumbling incoherently about his lack of confidence in her and what a stupid typical male he was. He could feel her tears soaking through his shirt and grimaced.

"There… there, Hermione? Come on, it's not so bad, is it?"

"You are a buffoon, Harry. And I can't believe you… but… of course I will keep your secrets. I don't understand everything, but how could you expect me to betray you? Do you realize how much that hurts?"

Harry looked away, uncomfortable with the pledge of fealty. He fidgeted even as she pulled away and wiped her face with the backs of her hands. "This is a big change, Hermione… are you sure you can handle it? You don't even know the things you have already done…"

"You mean my parents?" Hermione said softly, another sniffle leaving her. "I know, Harry. I have known. I didn't know why or how… but the last thing I remembered was wanting to hurt them. They were threatening to have me locked away to keep me from Hogwarts. When I woke up and Professor McGonagall told me they were dead… I think I knew right then that something was wrong with me."

Harry fingered the potions vials in his pocket before pulling them out and holding them out. "You heard Tom give their uses, didn't you?"

"I trust you, Harry. I may not agree with you, I might not like to see you so comfortable with V-Voldemort, but I trust in your judgment." She took the vials and held him up with a wry smile. "If I die, you have to take care of Crookshanks for me."

"For one thing, that is a horrible thing to say and in poor taste, for another… I hate cats. Now if you want to leave me your book collection…"

* * *

Falling…

Falling…

The darkness swirled around him nearly tangibly, caressing his skin like a lover. He had long since given up trying to see anything in the consuming dark, even his own hand, though he could certainly feel that he had a body. He had been falling… no, floating… no, certainly falling for years now, the blackness becoming all he knew. He was content to let the blackness swallow him, encase him, _become _him.

"Harry…"

Who was Harry? It was familiar… oh, yes, that was him, wasn't it? He was nearly sure it was, but the knowledge was fleeting and slipped through invisible fingers.

"Harry… can you see me?"

Harry's -- he _was_ Harry -- head turned, still seeing nothing but the all-consuming darkness that surrounded him. The concept of direction was quickly floating away with his other knowledge, replaced by a space in which up was down and left was right. Perhaps he would spend eternity there, content to let the darkness hold him fast. Unseeing eyes slipped shut in content, letting the boundless black engulf his being.

"You cannot do that, Angel."

Why not? He didn't vocalize this question, as he wasn't entirely sure he _could_, and just blinked his sightless eyes languidly.

It was at least another year of falling before time caught up with him. Air left his lungs as the darkness became stifling, moisture being ripped from his skin in endless beads of sweat. Tears ran rivulets down his face and Harry wished more than anything that he had a voice to scream… and then he realized the had been screaming all the while, throat raw and tearing even as he became unable to breathe.

His body felt as if it was being torn in two, with his every shred of life being torn away. And then he realized that it _was_ being ripped away, that he was dying, that soon there would be nothing left to salvage of his being is he didn't

"The time is coming, Angel. You can hide no more from your destiny. You cannot postpone the inevitable any longer, Angel."

The voice continued speaking soothingly, and somehow over the sound of his own screams he could hear it like an intimate whisper in his ear, clear as if the voice was speaking in his mind. And maybe it was, he wasn't sure, he couldn't be sure of anything anymore beyond the pain.

"Borrowed time, Angel. It is up now and the choice must be made. Will you lose yourself as so many have? Even you, child of Mawu, have not the ability to stave off the course of destiny. You must choose. Choose pain or release, choose death or something far worse. This is only a sample, Angel."

And the pain intensified to that of a hundred Cruciatuses, and Harry knew no more.

* * *

Revised: 3/20/09

* * *


	29. Obdurate

Disclaimer: I does not own. I does not want to. Would be shite if I owned. XD

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Obdurate // stubbornly resistant to moral influence; persistently impenitent_

* * *

Ron stared at the familiar crimson canopy, the same he had stared at for years. He could hear his roommates moving around slowly as they woke, and for once his reluctance to get out of his dark bed had little to do with laziness. Ron was thinking, something he generally tried to avoid but seemed necessary in that moment, and he had been thinking for over an hour since he was awoken from a jarring dream.

He couldn't remember his dream, only flashes of foreboding that accompanied it. The strange niggling sensation of _bad_ that had been hovering over him since before Halloween seemed to be culminating before him now, and Ron had no wish to get out of bed and face whatever had changed to bring the powerful feeling of apprehension to the fore. Something deep within him, something he couldn't put a name on, told him that everything, _everything_ was coming to a head.

When Harry and Hermione had returned the night before as if nothing was wrong, he had forced himself to smile and nod as if he didn't see the dark circles under their eyes or the vacant expression on Hermione's face. He pretended he didn't need an explanation for Hermione's sudden strange behavior, for why Harry looked as if he hadn't slept in days. When they didn't offer an explanation, he pretended he didn't need to know.

Because that same something that was now screaming in the back of his head told him he didn't _want_ to know.

Ron had been awake for hours staring at the ceiling, fingers twitching at his sides as he tried to puzzle out what he would do now. On one hand, he could ignore the night before entirely, pretend nothing had happened and that his two best friends weren't obviously hiding a world of secrets from him. It was contrary to his nature to let things go, but in this case he seriously considered it. After all, if he was making a habit of trusting this inner voice, he should really try his damnedest not to know what he was missing.

But the foreboding pit in his chest said that he wouldn't _have_ a choice. And having that choice taken away from him scared him more than he cared to examine.

Harry was different. More studious, less prone to just sitting and talking about Quidditch. More likely to have a conversation with Hermione on some magical theory or another than play chess. He had attributed the changes to Sirus's death, but the more that weeks turned into months, the less he saw mourning and the more he saw a chilled standoffishness. Had they really grown so far apart? What had happened to wrench apart their seemingly unshakable bond?

It seemed all he had done was blink and suddenly everything had changed. He could have sworn that it was not so long ago that he had met a small, quiet boy on the Hogwarts Express and gone on adventures with him. So why did he suddenly feel as if he had missed out on huge events in Harry's life?

Ron might have contemplated more, but a gut-wrenching scream broke his reverie and sent him automatically dashing from his bed towards Harry's, knowing that scream for what it was. Harry had often awoken this way the previous year, though generally not this late in the morning, after a vision sent by You-Know-Who. This year had been quiet, what with the pain Harry had managed to inflict on the villain at the Ministry, but the scream told him that it had managed to happen once more.

Harry was thrashing, back bowed off the bed as he screamed and writhed, sheets tangled around his legs. Apparently he had suffered in silence for a while, as sweat clung to his skin and stuck his clothing to him. Ron automatically gripped the sides of Harry's face and began calling his name, trying to avoid the thrashing limbs while watching his friend go through unimaginable pain.

No matter his current misgivings, no matter his confusion and indecisiveness, this was more important. Harry was his best friend, and not even the world falling down around them would change that.

* * *

It hurt. _Gods_ it hurt. It was like being under a hundred simultaneous Cruciatus curses, his nerves and cells alight with hellfire. He was sure he was screaming, he had to be, but the pain was so great that he couldn't even hear himself let alone try to differentiate sounds from one another.

And then it stopped as if the fire had been doused in one fell swoop, replaced by an exaggerated cold that made him curl in on himself despite the lingering effects of the pain. He was shaking now, and he felt like his insides had been covered in ice. Vaguely, he was aware that someone was calling his name loudly, but he couldn't bring himself to care. And as blackness encroached over his awareness, he let it come and surrendered to the blessed call of nothingness.

* * *

Severus tapped his fingers against the potions vial in annoyance, staring down at the sleeping features of Harry Potter. Minerva had come banging on his door an hour before demanding he bring several different potions for the boy, the stern witch steadily losing her composure as she listed off the things remedies were needed for. Severus had eyed her warily; she was an intelligent and strong woman, but she became no less than a panicked mother when one of her Gryffindors were seriously injured, even if most would not be able to see the change in her demeanor. It was the severity of her loss of control that had given him pause and made him not argue as he gathered the necessary vials. It would not do to incur the Dark Lord's wrath by tarrying as his cohort was in danger of being found out. He had merely gathered potions that would not have a detrimental effect on the boy's vampirism and set off after the frantic Minerva.

Now here he was, holding several potions in his hands ready to administer them to the boy in magically-induced slumber. He was glad Minerva had left already to escort the Weasley boy to the Headmaster's office, but now he was faced with Poppy Pomfrey standing over Potter, ready to run more tests. Severus surreptitiously pulled his wand into his hand, watching the Mediwitch warily. As she dipped her wand in the motions to give her a full patient readout, Severus set down the potions on the bedside table and pulled his wand into the open, rapidly casting silencing and locking charms on the room as Poppy's eyes grew wider and wider over the invisible diagnosis sheet.

When she finally pulled her rounded eyes away from the words only she could see, she was met with his wand pointed directly at her, and he was aware of the grim and nearly apologetic look on his face. "It is an oath of your profession to keep clients' secrets, is it not?"

"Not when the patient is a minor! I have an obligation to tell the Headmaster…"

"Look again at your sheet, Poppy." Severus sneered. "He is no minor, and if you believe that you must tell the Headmaster, I will remove this information from your memory."

Poppy's brown eyes narrowed, shoulders straightening in a defensive posture. "I am compelled by my position at this school to give any information on possible dangers to the students to the Headmaster! I have no idea what Mr. Potter has gotten himself into, but he is a danger…!"

Severus had placed his wand to her forehead, her shock that her colleague would actually act on his threat silencing her. "Far be it from me to actually help Potter with anything, but it is my duty to be sure his secrets remain sound. _Obliviate_."

Severus sighed as her eyes glossed over pulling his wand back and putting it in his pocket. He turned and scooped up the potions vials, beginning the task of slowly administering each to the unconscious boy. One for the dangerously high temperature, another usually reserved for victims of prolonged Cruciatus exposure. A half dose of healing potion to help soothe muscle damage and joint strain. A slipped in artificial blood potion to be sure they wouldn't have to contend with a raging vampire when he woke. By the time Poppy broke out of her stupor, Severus was pocketing the various vials and casting some diagnostic spells of his own to be sure the potions were having effect.

"Severus?" the Mediwitch asked groggily. "What happened?"

"Hmm?" Severus intoned coolly. "You ran the tests and gave me the dosage information. Then you supervised as I administered the potions."

He peered at her out of the corner of his eye as she nodded vacantly, the spell's effects including a high amount of suggestibility in the first minute or so after casting. Severus straightened and opened his mouth to ask if he was needed for anything when he felt his locking charms crumble. Severus has his hand on his wand again immediately.

"What happened to him?" The question was asked before Severus even understood who had so easily crashed through his protective measures, a sneer forming on his lips as he looked at the vampire who was obviously attempting to look composed.

"Poppy, don't you need to finish that paperwork for your monthly potions supply?" Severus cut out, glaring black eyes not leaving Pierce.

"Yes, yes, thank you Severus. I'll have that for you by lunch." Poppy was looking much more herself as she pulled a blanket over Potter's inert form and bustled away, hardly sparing the two professors a second glance.

"You moron," Severus hissed, glaring at the much calmed Vampire. "You are hardly known here, and your proximity to Potter would be horribly suspicious. What if anyone else had been here other than a recently Obliviated old witch? Are you really so obtuse, Pierce?"

Dante stared at him with his usual blank look, only the darkened state of his eyes giving away anything beyond cool composure. "Mylläkkä's wellbeing trumps any mission he may have. Now _what happened to him_?"

Severus glared silently at the blond, lip curling in disdain. He hated this man, this blasted honor-ridden Vampire with his superiority and his blank expressions. He hated his seemingly infallible loyalty and his smug countenance… and he hated how the looks the man gave him made him feel like he was in the wrong every time. Only one other had had that ability in his life, to actually make him question himself with only a look. And he hated it. Most of all, he hated the respect he was forced to have for the man for all those qualities he hated.

He would have retorted if only to spite the arrogant blond, but at that moment Potter groaned, having shaken off the spell keeping him in sleep sooner than expected. Pierce immediately was at his side, staring down at the boy as bright green eyes fluttered open.

"What in the _fuck_ was that?"

"Brilliant first words, Potter," Severus sneered down at the boy. "How do you expect anyone other than you to answer that?"

Potter shook his head, then immediately gripped his head with a groan. His gaze turned toward the silent vampire. "Dante! Do you have any idea?"

"What do you remember?"

Potter paused and grimaced. "Nothing. Just… pain. And…" his eyes closed, and his brow furrowed, hands still pressed to his temples. Severus pulled out a pain potion and held it above Potter's head for when those eyes opened again, and Severus ignored the grateful smile the boy gave. He downed it quickly and laid back, staring at the white ceiling. "I can't remember."

Severus caught the brief flash of concern the elder Vampire gave, but it was gone quickly as Pierce nodded. "We will figure something out, Mylläkkä. Now, are you well enough to attend classes?"

"Yes. Today is an important day, I don't have a choice in the matter." The boy paused suddenly and his eyes widened, "Wait, Madame Pomfrey! Did she…"

"I already took care of it, my lord," Severus said, inclining his head. "However, I would suggest vacating the area before she gets it into her head to check you over again. I won't be here to fix your problems next time, Potter."

Harry scowled a bit, but nodded. "Alright, then."

Severus nodded and swept away, leaving Potter with the Defense instructor and heading for his dungeons. He had classes to prepare for; he had already nearly missed breakfast, not that he ever had anything more than a cup of tea anyway. He would just summon an elf as he prepared for the fourth year Slytherins and Hufflepuffs he had first thing that morning. Immediately a scowl contorted his features. Albus was a fool to pair his Slytherins off with anyone but Ravenclaws; the Gryffindors were too annoying and brash and caused problems, the Hufflepuffs so timid that they were trounced upon.

He passed Granger as he traversed the halls, a frown on her face as she didn't even notice his existence. Severus wondered on her presence; he had expected the Dark Lord to kill her. Perhaps they had wiped her memory? What had caused her to attack Potter and Malfoy in the first place? He shrugged, it wasn't his concern and he was sure he would find out soon enough, anyway.

Thoughts of the Dark Lord nearly served to halt him, but Severus pressed on and attempted to disregard the thoughts that he had been putting off since the night before. He ignored the contemplations on the sight of Potter's legs around the Dark Lord's hips, the sight of his Master looking nearly as human as any of them. A chill went down his spine and he knew conclusively that he wasn't ignoring the thoughts well enough.

The Dark Lord and human had never been synonymous in his mind. Even in his younger years when he had joined the Dark sect willingly and eagerly, his Master had been something of a god, ready to smite all those who stood against them and bring about a new era. After he had set his sights on the Potters, his notion of the man had changed jarringly into that of a malevolent fiend, snakelike visage a reflection of a dark heart and evil mind. Severus had hardly ever gone in for the pureblood supremacy to begin with, being a half-blood himself, and the targeting of his childhood friend had only yanked him away farther.

But to see the Dark Lord with tousled dark hair, graying at the temples as he aged as any human did, looking hardly older than Severus himself and entwined passionately with Potter of all people… it was disturbing. In the moments before Draco had gasped they had all witnessed the very real intimacy and passion between the two, even if few had recognized it for what it was. But Severus did. The chemistry was nearly visible between the two powerful wizards, and though Severus could not bring himself to actually believe the Dark Lord had any capability for _feelings_ for another living being, the two were certainly suited to one another. And that was frightening.

He could imagine several might think their lord weak now. Macnair, especially, with his delusions of strength in extrication, and Bellatrix was sure to see this as Potter weakening her lord. But Severus… Severus knew that the newly glimpsed humanity of the Dark Lord was anything but weakness. Before, their lord could be predicted. He was strong and angry, cast the Cruciatus without thought when displeased, ordered the deaths of those who angered him. When happy, he was even more frightening, cowing all those around him with ease. It was what he had been for all the years Severus had been in his service, and all of them were used to the manner with which he conducted himself.

But this humanity was… unsettling. Emotion and humanity caused things to be unpredictable and wild, and to combine the fearsome leader they had known with someone capable of emotions beyond anger was frightening to the extreme. Severus shuddered as he entered his classroom, forcing himself not to think of it any longer. They would all see where this took them, and hopefully the world would not come crashing down.

* * *

**Mayhem at the Ministry!**

By Rita Skeeter

_It is this reporter's solemn duty to report to you a tragedy within our very own Ministry of Magic, readers. Last night, cloaked and masked, a Death Eater came to this reporter's dwelling exposing a terrible calamity: a raid by You-Know-Who in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Now, do not fear for this reporter, dear readers, as the unnamed Death Eater seemed only to want the story told without cover-ups, something any reporter can appreciate._

_At approximately ten o'clock last night, the full power of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's Inner Circle, the name referring to his elite soldiers, stormed an Auror meeting and slaughtered those fine men and women in attendance. This is a tragedy spanning all of Wizarding Britain, and I hope you will all join me in a moment of silence for those fallen this morning as you eat your morning meal. At least three dozen lives were lost, possibly more, of our finest Aurors._

_However, readers, this brings about many important questions. How, exactly, did You-Know-Who and his partner Lord Mylläkkä manage to infiltrate the Ministry without any alarm being raised? How did less than a dozen wizards manage to taken down the cream of our defensive crop? What does this say for the future of our world?_

_The Dark Lord and his partner are very powerful, indeed, and it is a frightening thought to consider the doubts now plaguing all of our minds. Can anyone oppose You-Know-Who?_

_(For a list of Aurors confirmed dead, see page seven.)_

_(For reactions, see page ten.)_

_(For information on our Savior and reports from those close to him, see page three)_

* * *

By the time Harry slid into the Defense classroom, the students had whipped themselves into a frenzy. The Daily Prophet article had been passed around from the few people who got a daily subscription, and fear was the dominant emotion swirling around the room. Being surrounded by terror make Harry's instincts claw at him, wishing to give the mortals something to fear, wishing to cash in on the panic that was seizing the masses. Harry ignored the feelings, watching the room.

Ron wasn't present, and Harry was glad for that. He was sure he and Ginny would have been pulled out of classes for the day with their father presumed dead. He saw several other people missing as well, and assumed they had had parents there the night before. It bothered him that he didn't feel remorse for breaking apart these families. He had been feeling less and less emotion when it came to death, and though he doubted he could ever take real pleasure in random mortality, it troubled him that he so rarely felt _badly_ about it anymore. Harry frowned and shoved the thoughts away, eyes looking over the classroom.

This was, as all NEWT classes were, a class comprised of all four houses in their year. Padma and Parvati Patil looked more confident than he had seen them since the year had started, faces less pale and chins upraised. No one seemed to notice this in their own grief and fear, but Harry did. He wondered why the two looked nearly vindicated, holding an air of great justice having been done. He still needed to speak with them about their reasons for signing up to follow Voldemort. But that could wait.

Draco and his cronies looked unconcerned as usual, though Harry was glad they were not being gloating or loud. That would compound the misgivings of the students and quite possibly ruin all they were striving for with this raid. Fear was one thing, but when fear turned to a righteous vengeance as Dumbledore would surely attempt, it would only work against them. Let them be fearful, let them doubt their leaders. That could only help them.

The Gryffindors looked wary, lips pursed and glaring towards the blank Slytherins. Ron's absence was starkly obvious amongst the others of their year, and it left them all shifting. Hermione sat by Harry's side, vacant expression turned down towards the table and Harry fought off his concern. Questioning her would have to wait until later. He knew the potions Tom had given her would make a difference in her demeanor, but the strange vacuous stare had yet to diminish. He had had to use the Rheostat Potion three times that morning to keep others from being suspicious. Neville had helped a lot in that, and Harry was thankful for him.

The Ravenclaws looked thoughtful, discussing the turn of events amongst themselves quietly. They too kept shooting furtive glances towards the Slytherins. Lisa Turpin had narrowed eyes trained on Harry, however, and when he met her gaze she covertly spelled a small piece of parchment to fold into a square and slide towards him.

_'I have news to inform you of, my lord. Please meet with me as soon as possible.'_

Harry gave a surreptitious nod to the Ravenclaw, slipping the note into his pocket as he let his eyes trail over the Hufflepuffs who were talking rapidly amongst themselves. Zacharias was in the middle leading an obviously heated debate, the less timid of the group arguing right back. Harry knew the Hufflepuffs would be one of his hardest sells if only because of the loyalty they were famous for. No loyalty was infallible, as many people tended to forget when thinking of the badger house, but it would be a chore to convert them away from their beliefs. Zacharias could very well be a boon for this. He was quick with his overly loud mouth.

"I trust you all can find your seats."

Harry turned as Dante entered the room, voice monotone. Once ascertaining he was fine, the vampire had hurried off for whatever reason, giving Harry no time to try and apologize. He hated apologizing and was terrible at it, hence why it had been two weeks since his mistake and he had yet to really speak with his friend. He raised his hand and traced a line over his left ear as Dante's eyes fell over him, and the vampire have a barely perceptible nod to acknowledge he'd gotten the message. They needed to talk.

"Today we will be talking about the Killing Curse."

Harry tried not to snort; Dante was always directly down to business. There was no beating around the bush with him, and it was something that made many of the students uncomfortable with him. They all had stiffened, looking at their professor as if he had lost his mind. Slowly many of those gazes began flicking to Harry, who schooled his face into a small frown.

It was Wayne Hopkins, a Hufflepuff, who spoke up from the front. "Professor Moody taught us the Unforgivables in fourth year, sir…"

"I am not going to teach you what it is. You know that. I am going to teach you why it works. The only ways to avoid being hit with it. Practical things necessary for you to know in the real world, Mister Hopkins. If that is all?"

Nods came around the room, and Dante slipped easily into a lecturing mode, eyes trained on the far wall of the classroom.

"The Killing Curse, incantation _Avada Kedavra_." The room flinched as one, and Harry bit his tongue not to scoff out loud. "The spell originated in the 1400s from a witch embittered by her husband. It was, apparently, her life's work. When cast correctly, it renders the target dead on contact, stopping the function of the circulatory system, respiratory system, the heart, and the brain. It is said to be a painless death, though there is obviously no way to know if that is true or not.

"There is no shield that can protect you from the Killing Curse. There is no way of deflecting or blocking it, you simply move out of the way or you will die. However, there are several secondary ways to avoid being hit, incorporating Transfiguration or Potions into battle."

Harry yawned as Dante continued, though he pulled out his wand with everyone else when Dante had them demonstrate the quickest transfiguration they could manage. The lesson was actually mundane in comparison to many of Dante's classes, but by the pale shades of the students' faces, Harry thought it might be a good thing that Dante wasn't being like Moody and demonstrating the curse.

When the block was over, the students dashed for the door, obviously eager to put the class behind them. He nodded to Hermione and Neville, who had stayed behind. "I need to have a word with the professor, don't wait up. Can you escort her for me, Neville?"

The boy chewed on his lip but nodded. "Yeah, I've got Herbology next so I can afford to be a little late. She only has to go to Arithmancy, right?"

"Right."

"I'll see you later on tonight, Harry."

"Sure. You know I'm going to want answers soon, don't you?"

Neville paused and looked round the room before giving Harry a shy grin. "Yeah, I know."

"See you tonight, then."

Hermione nodded and followed Neville, who had her lightly by the elbow. Seeing that only Harry was left in the room, Dante shot a locking charm at the door and activated the privacy wards around his classroom. Blue eyes stared impassively up at green and Dante raised a brow. "Yes, Mylläkkä?"

Harry flopped down gracelessly, staring over the rims of his useless fake glasses at the blond before breaking propriety entirely and pouting. "Dante, stop being mad at me. I command you!"

The vampire snorted and raked his fingers slowly through his shoulder length golden hair, lips twitching in a way that few managed with Dante. "Command?"

"Well... Fine! Ask nicely, then. Come on, Dante…"

"I am not angry with you, merely annoyed." The blond was examining loose strands now, looking at the tips critically.

"But you know I didn't mean it!"

"Which is exactly why you still have your head," Dante pointed out with a small smirk.

Harry harrumphed and looked away, smiling a bit. "Yes, and I'm forever thankful for your benevolence."

"As you should be."

Harry quickly got down to business, telling Dante of the raid the night before. He had read of it in the Daily Prophet, obviously, but hearing a firsthand account was much more informative. Dante didn't press on the issue of Remus or Arthur, and for that Harry was glad. Even if he felt little remorse, he didn't wish to dwell on condemning to death two men who had once meant something to him. He hesitated as he came to the casting of the Patronus and the events after, but looked down at his hands and continued in a clipped voice, wishing to get it over with as quickly as possible.

"A panther?" Harry could practically hear the amusement dripping from Dante's voice behind the monotone. "What kind of a euphemism is that?"

Harry waved his hand impatiently, ignoring the snide commentary. "That is what you choose to focus on?"

"Well, I could focus on the fact that you were pinned to the wall and contemplating love like a girl… but I thought you might not appreciate it."

Harry sunk down in his chair, reminding himself again and again that having Dante's companionship was worth it. He hoped.

* * *

Draco was exhausted after the night before, and were it not for glamour charms everyone else would know as well. Perhaps it was an effeminate thing to do, but every pureblood worth their salt learned minor glamours like this, male or female, to cover bags under the eyes or other signs of weariness. It didn't do, after all, to walk around looking haggard after a long night of working for one's ideals. Presentation and appearance meant too much.

But regardless of his perfect appearance, Draco was achingly tired and even more exhausted mentally. Even once he was safely back in his bed he had had trouble falling asleep, stuck as he was on the events of the raid. He had seen death, watched _real people_ die before his eyes. It had been nowhere near as glorious as he had thought it would be, though it had really opened his eyes. Truth had been a long time coming for him, and he felt as if he had aged years in one night.

"I don't see why you are doing this, Draco."

He glanced at Pansy through his lashes, a wry smirk making its way onto his lips. They were standing off to the side just within the Great Hall's doors, and Draco was waiting for his cue. Pansy was leaning beside him against the wall to the rest of the Great Hall appearing to be casually in whispered conversation with him and nothing more. Draco shrugged one shoulder elegantly. "It's simple, Pansy. Potter believes this is necessary, and I will obey."

"I don't like it," she hissed, lowering her voice to nearly silent. "I don't like the idea of that halfblood Gryffindor leading us. The Dark could do much better--"

"To underestimate your enemies is a folly, but to underestimate your allies is even worse, my dear. You have no idea what Potter is capable of, so I would shut your mouth now."

Pansy's light hazel eyes rounded, and she jerked back slightly. Draco knew it was unlike him to be so curt with her, but it had to be done. That he had survived so long with his attitude was something he now viewed as a miracle, and wasn't about to let those who listened to him make the same mistake. He didn't know why it was that Potter had given him so much leeway, whether it was his father's status or the strange relationship Potter had with him, but he didn't know that it would carry on to his friends as well. So he glared silently at the brunette, telling her with his eyes to drop the subject. And then Potter was in sight.

The play was on.

For all the world, Potter appeared to be not watching where he was going as he entered the hall, and Draco knew it was his cue. He walked lazily away from Pansy, appearing to be walking towards his seat just in time for Potter to slam into his shoulder. Those near them went quiet, their six years of rivalry promising a confrontation and perhaps a glimpse of Potter's famous temper. It had not shown much that year, and though Draco knew why, the others in the room did not.

"Excuse me, Potter, I didn't see you there," Draco said with an incline of his head. Silver eyes slid to Granger, who was by Potter's side, and she stared blankly back. He remembered the night before and was irritated, but she made no move to jump to Potter's defense so he filed thoughts of her away for later.

"No no, Malfoy, it was my fault entirely."

The hall had gone quiet already, and Draco was reluctantly amused. Teenagers were amusing with their ability to turn the smallest event into scandal, and Draco could practically feel the disbelief as cogs began turning in the spectator's eyes. "Well then, Potter," Draco said with a slow smirk, "we'll talk later, hm? I think recent events have turned the possibilities for amity in our favor."

Draco could see Potter stifling a snicker. The words hadn't been planned, but the idea was a good one and Draco knew it. It was ambiguous enough to throw off everyone watching, wondering in which direction the recent events were pulling the two. To those considering the Dark, hope would spring. To those firmly entrenched in the Light, they might see the possibility of converting a Malfoy to their side. Any suspicious could be put off easily because, after all, who would suspect the Golden Boy of being Dark?

"That we should."

Draco stuck out his hand, uncomfortably aware that he was once again making overtures to their first year. But this time he understood Potter much better than he had then, and Potter was no longer the naïve little boy he had been then. And Draco himself… well, he felt he was different as well. And as Potter took his hand before the entire Great Hall, Draco felt vindicated. Perhaps they were not friends, but he was publicly known as on good terms with Harry Potter-- THE Harry Potter. And the eleven year old in Draco smiled.

They separated and set the Great Hall into murmurs, both taking their respective seats. It wasn't until the attention had turned off of watching them and onto each other to discuss the turn of events that Draco looked down and opened the piece of paper Potter had slipped into his hand.

_'Meet me in the Room of Requirement after dinner tonight. Bring a few of your Slytherins who you deem intelligent enough for sensible debate and research. Inform Turpin to come as well.'_

* * *

Ron didn't return to afternoon classes, nor was he in the dorm when Harry and Hermione set out for the Room of Requirement. Harry grimaced, feeling the tug of guilt at his stomach for the pain he had surely caused to what he had once considered his surrogate family. But this was war, he told himself, and he couldn't afford to be wishy-washy now.

"Do you regret your actions, Harry?"

Hermione's voice was quiet, but Harry was at attention immediately. It was the first time since the night before that Hermione had attempted real conversation, and Harry forced himself to keep walking as he answered. "Why do you ask?"

"I remember now."

This time Harry did pause, long enough to meet pained brown eyes before they passed him, Hermione's steps not slowing as she made her way for a nearby staircase. Harry hurried to catch up, sighing. "You remember about your parents?"

"Yes. All of it."

"And you regret?"

"Of course I regret," she hissed, lip curling. "I killed them, _my mother and father,_ because they pissed me off. How do you expect me to not regret?"

"I'm sorry if it seems callous, Hermione, but I had to ask."

He watched her calm herself, breathing deeply. "Yes, well, I regret. But that isn't what I asked. Do you?"

Harry was silent for a long minute, trying to decide how to answer. "No. I can't regret. Regret is a weakness. I refuse to regret anything I've done, because it cheapens the goals I have, the lives I've taken. If I regret, what does that say about about them? Saying I made a mistake is like saying they died in vain… and that makes their worth depreciated. I prefer to believe there is a reason for every death I have had to cause, because I refuse to kill without reason. Does that make _any_ sense?"

"Not really," she said dryly, but he could hear the smile her thick hair was hiding from him. "But I think I understand."

He walked close enough to her for their shoulders to brush. "Don't worry so much, Hermione. Your thoughts will work themselves out, and as the memories settle things will make more sense. Do you remember anything about being Obliviated?"

"Obliviation by someone as powerful as Professor Dumbledore is permanent, Harry. You know that."

"I know." He did, but he sighed regardless.

Barnabas the Barmy's portrait came into view, and Harry was surprised to see the door present as they approached. Apparently, Draco had already arrived. They entered unnoticed in the midst of arguing, and Harry watched with a sardonic look.

"Potter is going to ruin us if we follow him!" Parkinson was saying.

"I don't like this any more than Pansy does, Draco." Zabini was leaned back in his chair in apparent relaxation, fingers pressed together in thought beneath his chin, but his tension was obvious.

Parkinson was on the edge of the couch by Draco's side, chewing her lower lip and watching the blond's blank expression. "Draco… I don't understand how your attitude could change so suddenly. A few weeks ago you were just as against Potter as we were, and you were annoyed with our new lord nearly as much. How could you do such an about-face? It is unlike you…"

"For one thing, Pansy, I am allowed to change my opinion. For another, I would not dare to anger the _partner_ of our lord," he paused and shivered visibly. "And I mean that in more ways than you could imagine.

"Now Draco, that's personal," Harry purred, cocking his hip to the side and smirking as all three of the Slytherins jumped. "I don't go around discussing your love life, do I?"

"Yes, well," Malfoy said with a smirk, looking totally unperturbed by Harry's sudden appearance, "I normally don't snog powerful figures in places where groups of people can walk in on me."

"Yes, and I am quite sure I'll be holding a grudge for that as well. Horrible timing, the lot of you."

"I think you might have scarred a few of them for life. Dolohov tripped over his own feet to get away from the room and Aunt Bella looked like she was going to have an aneurysm."

"Good for her, it will save me the trouble of killing her."

"What's that, Potter? Is that _jealousy_ I detect?"

"You've found the line, Draco. I would stop now if I were you."

"Yes, well, I apologize." He turned to glare at his friends. "I think some convincing is needed for these two, however."

Harry shrugged his shoulders and threw himself into a chair, making Hermione's silent presence obvious.

Parkinson hissed, eyes narrowed. "What is _she_ doing here? Are we going to be overrun with Gryffindors now, Potter?"

"I don't much like your tone," Harry said cheerfully. "As for Hermione, she is here because I want her here. To address your concerns, however…" the fake smile was wiped off and Harry leaned forward in his chair, eyes flicking between the glaring black of Zabini and the pale brown eyes of Parkinson. "I cannot force you to follow me, nor can I make you understand that I am not the Harry Potter you thought you knew. But I think you should both consider believing in your proclaimed lord, and assume that Voldemort knows what he's doing. Do you honestly think he would consider creating an alliance with me if I was actually some snot-nosed sixteen year old hero? Have a bit of faith in your Dark Lord or back out now. As I said at the first meeting, if you cannot work with me you will not be Death Eaters for long."

Pansy sat back, suitably cowed and nodding her head. Zabini also relaxed a bit though his glare did not lessen. Harry raised an eyebrow and made to get it over with and just ask what the other boy's problem was when the door to the room opened and Lisa Turpin hurried in, Alec Selwyn behind her. The younger boy didn't have the confident air he had had at the last meeting, instead he was pale and drawn, reluctance written across his every movement.

"My lord," Lisa said respectfully, bowing to him. "We have a problem."

The girl waved to her companion, and Alec walked forward and bowed as well, fingers twisting around a piece of parchment. "It… it's about my father, my lord."

Harry held out his hand for the paper, and Alec slowly handed it over, cringing away immediately. Harry took a total of thirty seconds to scan the letter before handing it back nodding. "You were right to bring this to me, Alec. Thank you."

The boy deflated, obviously surprised he was not being tortured for bringing bad news. Harry was somewhat amused, but it was dampened by the news he had to give to Voldemort now. He sighed and raised a hand to rub it across his face. Apparently, Armand Selwyn had been involved with one of the Aurors killed the night before, a middle-aged woman whose name Harry didn't recognize. Her death had hit him hard, the hastily scrawled letter he had sent to his son saying he was considering running from the Dark because of the transgression against him. As if the Dark Lord was supposed to keep track of the lovers of his followers. Harry snorted mentally before rolling up his left sleeve to expose the metal snake wrapped around his forearm.

He ignored the curious looks and tapped it with his wand. _//Tom, we have a bit of a problem. Apparently a… I've forgotten the name already, Jones or some common name like that… was killed last night, and was the lover of Selwyn. He was enamored with her quite a bit, and is now feeling on the outs with our cause. Do what you must but try not to kill him. His son brought me this information, and it would be good to reward the boy for his honesty by sparing the man if possible.//_

A second tap and he sat back, raising an eyebrow at Draco who had walked up to him and was studying the metal with a fascinated look. "What's this? Did you make it like you did the gifts for my parents?"

"I did. And it is my way of keeping in contact with T--err, Voldemort while I'm in the school. Only being able to get away once a week is bothersome, and I tend to forget things if I don't tell him immediately."

He turned back to the Ravenclaws and nodded. "Do either of you need anything else?"

"No, my lord," Alec mumbled, still pale. Harry felt badly for him, not knowing what his father's fate would be.

"Nothing, my lord, though if you need anything…" Lisa said hesitantly.

Harry looked around at the others in the room and shrugged. "You can stay if you'd like. I'm sure your brains could be of use in what I need done."

Selwyn bowed and left the room, and Harry motioned for Lisa to take a seat. Harry stretched and kicked his legs out, sighing. She took a seat on the end of the couch next to Pansy, and Hermione had migrated to a pouf and was watching him vacantly. Harry grimaced and hoped she assimilated soon and got to have more than flashes of personality.

"Alright, I called you all here for a reason. Soon, Voldemort will be handing over to Rita Skeeter the things I have found that will tarnish Dumbledore's name. However, before he does, I want more eyes to make sure I didn't miss anything." Harry pulled out a copy of the scroll he had given to Tom and waved his wand over it, creating five duplicates and sending them to float in front of the room's occupants. "One area I was not able to find much information on was his early childhood and the truth behind his father, mother, and sister. Any information you can find that will help should be added to your scroll, and it will appear on mine and Voldemort's. Details can mean everything, so don't hesitate to add things."

"What about your childhood, Harry?"

Harry paused in his thoughts and grimaced at Hermione. "I'd rather not, thank you."

"You want him known as flawed, don't you?" Her eyes were already skimming over the scroll, taking in information. He was torn between being thankful for the coherency in her eyes and irritated at the subject. "Yes, his friendship with Grindewald would be interesting and cause doubts, and yes the suspicious circumstances of his sister's death would turn heads… but I think the abuse of their savior would floor them."

Harry rolled his eyes and ignored the shocked looks of the room's other occupants. "Don't overdramatize it, Hermione. I wasn't some sobbing, beaten urchin."

"They starved you!" she had looked away from the scroll now, eyes blazing. "Don't think I didn't notice how thin you were after every summer, how uncomfortable you used to be with physical contact. And that… that creature you called your uncle… I saw how he looked at you, how he spoke to you at the train station every year. I saw how much you didn't want to go home…!"

"Shut up any time now, Hermione," Harry said with a glare, employing the potion to send her back into calmness. It was an abuse, perhaps, but he didn't like her ranting at all. "Do you know what would happen if anyone got an inkling of my childhood? It would turn into a scandal and totally destroy everything I am trying to build about myself. I don't want to be the poster child for the raped and abused, because I was neither. But I know how the Wizarding world would react. Everything would be exponentially exaggerated and I would be the pitied child I have never wanted to be. I am a bloody Dark Lord, not an maltreated child, so knock that notion out of your head now."

His glare turned over to everyone else. "That goes for all of you, as well. If I hear this coming from anyone's mouth, I will hold you all under torture long enough that you'll be wishing for death."

He might have continued, but the metal around his arm heated and Harry ignored the room's occupants to once again pull up his sleeve and activate the snake. Its head lifted slightly as it spoke, Tom's voice resonating in the large room.

_//Armand? I never thought I would see the day. I will take care of him and remind him of whom he serves. I am sure he was not entirely in his right mind when he told this to his son. In any case, I will take care of it. Now, Potter… I expect you here this evening, as I believe we have unfinished business to attend to. Employ my time-turner if you must, but you _will _be here. I await you.//_

Harry fought not to blush. Unfinished business? Tonight would be interesting after all.

He turned back to the room and waved a hand. "If there is nothing else, then get to work."

* * *

Blooper:(Tsurai no Shi and I got bored…)

((Harry flopped down gracelessly, staring over the rims of his useless fake glasses at the blond before breaking propriety entirely and pouting. "Dante, stop being mad at me. I command you!"))

**Dante:** Noes. I is no listening. U suck.  
**Harry:** Listen dammit! or i shall curse you with eternal stupidness  
**Dante:** You mean the same thing you got hit with?  
**Harry:** You is mean. i will go angsty-sulk now.  
--goes into post-veil levels of uberangst--  
--cries tears of emo blood and pain and dies and it's all Dante's fault--  
▫ộ»_** Miscief Managed **_«ộ▫ End of Paraselenic. Oh, and Tom died of heartbreak. The end.

PS. Sev was happy.

Revised: 3/20/09 (Note: This blew. I had a mostly rewritten chapter saved in document manager, but it died and I can't for the life of me recall what I did. I know I expended on Hermione, made the interactions more believable, and just made everything more coherent, but when I tried to do it again it was shit. I ended up just adding a few sentences. Damnit. -sniff-)


	30. Interlude: Prurient

Disclaimer: I does not own. I does not want to. Would be shite if I owned. XD

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

If you're reading this story only for the plot (that thrills me, by the way, that some of you are)… well, this chapter isn't for you. Don't worry, you aren't missing anything plot wise if you skip it. XD (See ending A/N.)

**WARNINGS: Language** (Harry's ticked, many F-bombs will be dropped), and **lotsa smut**. I said I wouldn't but… well, this got out of hand. Still not-quite-a-full-lemon (well, not what I would write if a lemon was what I had in mind, at least), but I know I crossed FFnet's lines regardless (didn't mean to!). Oh, and **a bit of kink **(domination)… so beware, sensitive readers!

* * *

**Paraselenic**

Interlude_ - Prurient // causing lasciviousness or lust_

* * *

Harry walked uncloaked through Riddle Manor, smirking as the Death Eaters around shrunk away with his presence. Between his actions and the deference shown to him by various Inner Circle members, he had cemented his place as the Dark Lord's partner and powerful in his own right. After all, it took someone of substantial standing to manage to get Lucius Malfoy's respect, and they all knew it. The regular Death Eaters had not seen as much of him as he would have liked, but what they had seen was enough to leave them wary and respectful. Harry could live with that.

He had begged out nearly immediately after his conversation in the Room of Requirement, choosing to go to Tom right after he had called and use the time turner before going back rather than wait until late that night to use the device and dealing with a sleepy, cranky Tom. At least this way, they would get a few hours of… erm… conversation in. Harry snorted mentally.

He could hear her voice even before he entered reached the door to Tom's office, and already he had to restrain the urge to run in and kill her. He hated how much she affected him, and he especially hated how much of a weakness it felt like that he begrudged her more for her obsession with Tom than even Sirius's murder. He ignored the gnawing sensations in his chest and walked into the office, catching Lucius' eye quickly before turning on the scene of Bellatrix knelt by Tom's chair.

He was surprised to see Tom in his natural form with so many of his lesser ranked Death Eaters wandering around the manor, and found that fact annoyed him terribly. He had liked it better when this form had been just for him. He also narrowed his eyes when he noticed the older man had cut his hair, leaving it barely long enough to cover his ears. It had been one day… one day!… since his youth had been revealed to his inner circle, and already Harry saw the changes.

Harry twitched with the urge to hit Bellatrix as she batted her eyelashes at Tom. The man looking totally uninterested, but it didn't stop invisible claws from rending his insides to shreds.

"My lord, you're even more handsome than I remember! What a wonderful feat of power it must have been!" The woman ran crazed eyes over his form, a smile tugging at her lips. "I would be happy to help you assess its capabilities, my lord; you needn't stoop to dirtying yourself with that halfblood creature Potter…"

Harry growled low in his throat, trying to control the urge to rip the woman's throat out as she ran a hand over Tom's arm under the guise of admiration. As that hand lingered, Harry had to freeze himself so he didn't go and rip it off of her. His more base instincts were running high as Tom gave her a patronizing smile and patted her head like a favored dog. "Not necessary, Bella. But I… thank you for the consideration."

Lucius, Harry finally noticed, was watching him with an amused smirk, looking far too gleeful at Harry's clenched fists and taut countenance. The smirk faded, however, as Bellatrix made Harry's patience run out.

"Oh, but my lord… I am your most _faithful_ and _devoted_ servant… I live to please you…" she purred, sidling forward on her knees closer yet to the stoic Dark Lord.

Harry smirked coldly and picked at his fingernails as he made his presence known. "You know, Bella, I didn't have you down as a sycophantic slut… oh wait, yes I did."

Bellatrix's eyes swiveled to him in surprise, quickly narrowing with seething hatred. Harry peered at her through his lashes with a bored expression as she snarled. "Stay out of the adults' conversation, Potty."

"How about I make this simple for you, Bella?" Harry said coolly, sweeping his eyes over the occupants of the room before once again locking eyes with her and giving her a sneer. "Get your fucking hand off of him before I break it off and shove it down your throat."

Harry ignored the laugh that Lucius quickly stifled, keeping his eyes on Bellatrix's dark ones. He wouldn't be backing down from this, and he really hoped she continued to challenge him. Neville or no, he would gladly make a meal of her if she didn't get the hell away from _his_--

"You may both leave." Tom's voice broke his musings. The comment was obviously directed at the two Death Eaters, and Bellatrix looked ready to argue. A glare from Tom sent her skittering away, however, and Lucius bowed before leaving as well. The blond had the audacity to smirk at Harry before he left, closing the study's door behind him. Harry looked up at Tom with a forced blankness, watching for what would undoubtedly be a spectacular reaction from his lover.

"What, exactly, was that Potter?" The tone was cool, but the tickling sensation in Harry's faded scar told him that Tom was reigning in his temper.

"That was me threatening your bitch of a crawler."

Crimson eyes narrowed. "Any reason why you thought it your place to do so, Potter?"

Harry smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Because, dear Tom, you're _mine_, and I don't take kindly to usurpers."

* * *

Tom Marvolo Riddle couldn't really remember the last time he had felt so shocked. Being ripped from his body by an infant had enraged him. Potter coming to him out of the blue had initially induced anger that settled to a victorious glee. But here was a smirking Harry Potter, crossing multiple silent boundaries, and Tom could do nothing for long moments but stare.

From shock came infuriation, a snarl overtaking his face. "Lord Voldemort is no one's possession, boy, and you would do well to remember that. I do not know what kind of power this tryst has lead you to believe you have, but I will fuck whomever I please whenever I please."

Answering rage flashed through Potter's eyes, but a cool smirk tugged at the young Vampire's lips. "Oh really? Well, then, I'll just go catch up with Pretty because I'm sure he will show me a good time…"

Tom realized he was moving only as he was taking long-legged strides towards the boy and reaching up to thread his fingers through the inconvenient, waist length black strands, gripping Potter by the hair at the back of his head. He yanked backwards, ignoring Potter's gasp. "Don't provoke me, brat!"

Potter glared, green eyes mere slits. "Get your hand out of my hair, git."

Tom, in his rational mind, was well aware of the dangerous line he was treading, and he wasn't thinking of Potter's sensitivity when it came to his hair. He could not afford to cross this line… But though Tom's rational mind was reeling, Tom was far from acknowledging anything but the man in front of him, bent uncomfortably backward in his grip. "You will listen closely, Potter, and you will _obey_. You lay so much as a finger on Lucius or anyone else, and I will snap your fingers and then kill them in front of you. Do you understand me?"

He felt a wracking shudder roll through Potter's body, and a thrill ran through him. This boy overpowered him by half physically and was his magical equal, and yet here he was held under Tom's power. Though Tom had decades more magical experience to guide him, he knew that if Harry wanted to, Harry would have broken the hold already. But the boy just glared at him with glowing eyes, tense and hiding a cringe as Tom tightened his fingers in the impossibly long hair.

"I asked you if you understood me, Potter."

"Of course I understand. I understand that you are an emotionally constipated prat!"

Tom snarled and yanked on the hair, simultaneously bending Potter backwards and shoving him back, smirking as he grunted in pain. The edge of his desk was digging into the boy's back, and Tom leaned forward to compound that.

Potter didn't have time to dodge when Tom wandlessly cursed him, smirking as green eyes became round in his shock. "Ah, you know this one, then? It is such a nice curse… leaving the victim entirely unable to move, but still able to communicate… or scream. Ideal for torture. But for you, loçkë, I have other plans."

"Tom," Potter's voice was strained and Tom could practically feel the underlying rage. "Release the spell, or I swear to you that I will make your life a living hell."

Tom waved his wand negligently over his desk. The various trinkets and stacks of paperwork vanished instantly, and Tom leered at the infuriated vampire. "I think I prefer you this way, really."

He leaned forward and pushed back Harry's hands, positioning them over his head and leaving Tom unimpeded. He let his fingers trace light circles over the cloth covered skin, smirking all the while as Harry twisted his head and shouted obscenities. Deft fingers slowly undid the series of buttons holding Harry's shirt closed, ignoring the cursing Potter.

"I will fucking _kill_ you, Tom! You fucking son of a…"

"Ah ah ah, loçkë, leave my mother out of this, hmm?"

Tom pushed away the material, strangely thankful for Potter's lack of propriety and tradition as the muggle clothes fell away. The urge to taste would not be ignored, and Tom relished in Harry's groan as he traced his tongue from navel to sternum across slightly olive skin, tasting the salty tang of sweat and the underlying flavor that he had grown so accustomed to in the last weeks.

"T-Tom…"

"Ah, giving in to me already?" Tom asked, palms of his hands running slowly up clothed legs. "I do think I like you like this. Your mouth will get you in trouble one day, but your actions will get you killed. So quick you are to believe you have rights where you do not." Tom's hands fleetingly cupped the growing hardness between Harry's legs, his smirk widening. "But yet you enjoy being put in your place, don't you?"

"Fuck, Tom… take the spell off."

Tom didn't answer him, merely stared into entrancing green eyes as he paused in his ministrations, feeling the trap closing in around him. He refused to acknowledge the little voice that was asking him why he was giving pleasure to the brat instead of torturing him, why the fact that Potter was enjoying it made his own arousal soar. He firmly reminded himself that he was Lord Voldemort, damnit, and he did not care. Not about his supporters, not about his minions, and certainly not about Harry bloody Potter.

Anger swept through him fiercely, a comforting and familiar emotion, and Tom gripped Harry by the shoulder and yanked on his inert body, flipping him onto his stomach and hiding those alluring eyes from his sight. He did not care. Did not. _Could_ not.

A spell took care of Potter's remaining clothing, leaving his body bare to Tom's eyes. He trailed his lips up the smooth skin, laying his fully clad body across Harry's back. He swallowed the groan that rose in his throat as his erection rubbed against Harry, biting down on the shoulder under his mouth and ignoring Potter's shout of pain. "I think I have let you get away with too much, Potter, if you think I would allow you to even think of touching another."

Harry twisted his neck and bared his fangs, and Tom felt a thrill as he saw that Potter's pupils had gone slitted in his anger. The strength at this boy's command ceaselessly amazed him, and it was his. His to do with as he pleased. Tom shivered, tightening his grip on Potter as the man snarled. "You think I will let you, you bastard? Fucking possessive--"

Tom spelled away his own clothes, and Potter cut off with a throaty moan even as Tom seized the back of his neck and painfully pushed down on his head. With his other hand, Tom dug his blunt nails into Potter's hip. "A sadist and a masochist, Potter? Interesting… Now, Loçkë… let me hear you say it.

"Say what, arsehole?!"

The fingers on Harry's hip trailed inward, stroking slowly. "Whose are you?"

"Fuck you, Tom!!"

"Yes, yes, Potter, we're getting to that. Don't be impatient." Tom's questing hand lifted to his mouth and then reached down to grip his own erection and position himself. "Now say it."

"Let me repeat, Tom." Potter's breath was ragged, and Tom could feel his body trembling. He would not be able to break the curse on him, but his status as equal in power meant he could challenge the spell. "Fuck. You. And that is not an offer."

"Too bad that I have never been good with listening to what others want then, hmm?" He reached up and grasped the boy by the hair again and yanked back, bringing those brilliant eyes into view. "Now _whose are you_?"

"Good Merlin; yours, Tom!" Harry's eyes were clouded in lust even through the angry glare. Tom simply smirked, eyes remaining locked with Harry's even as he thrust forward, guiding himself with only saliva as lubricant and watching Potter's face twist into a grimace. It wasn't as if the boy needed preparation with their regular sex life, but being taken nearly dry would never be comfortable for anyone. Not that Tom cared, of course.

"That's right," Tom panted as he pulled back and pressed forward once more. "_Mine_."

"Damnit!" Harry's voice was nearly a whine, throaty and gasping. "Gods, Tom, let me touch you!"

It wasn't any kind of affection that made the hand tugging at black locks slide down Potter's body, nor was it remorse that had him trailing his fingers teasingly over his partner's shaft and then caressing along with his every move. It wasn't the way Harry began chanting his name like a mantra that made him release the damned spell, allowing both of their bodies to move together. And as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead into the tanned shoulder, gasping for breath, he certainly did not feel compelled to meet the panting mouth with his own.

Anger sped their lust, and soon Tom was no longer able to keep up his attention to Harry's erection as he gripped slim hips for dear life, moving faster. He felt Potter scrabbling to grip himself, but nothing registered in his mind beyond the completion that hovered just out of reach.

Gods, how he had needed this since the night before, since the day before that and the day before that. He merely had to look at the boy and he was consumed with the need to touch him, to taste his skin and bury himself inside him. He had never been this addicted to another human being before, never felt need so great for anything but power. And in the foggy moments as he approached climax, Tom knew exactly why that was, and he knew exactly why the boy always ended up as the center of his universe. This epiphany would be ignored if it was even remembered, but he knew.

In the heat of passion, Tom was content with the knowledge that he loved Harry Potter.

And somewhere, the defiance of the prophecy was heralded as the _'power the Dark Lord knows not' _was realized.

* * *

A/N: When I thought of the Mannequin spell to use on Trelawney, this wasn't my intention at all. O.o; Oh my.

This isn't anything like my usual smut writing, because I wanted raunchy and yet as non-graphic as possible… which is a really, really weird combination. I am paranoid of this story being deleted, because I would bawl my eyes out and I think it would kill my inspiration entirely, so I was really, really censoring myself. I'm not happy with it, I don't think, but it will do.

Loçkë is Albanian, and I'll tell you what it means when Harry asks later. You can look it up, of course, but since Harry doesn't know, I won't say until he does. Thanks to Duchess Ravenheart for the idea to use Albanian. :)

Revised: 3/20/09 (Umm... typos during a sex scene are fail. I can't believe no one pointed them out before, haha! I lose.)


	31. Svengali

Disclaimer: I does not own. I does not want to. Would be shite if I owned. XD

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Svengali // someone who controls and manipulates someone else, usually for evil purposes_

* * *

Harry yanked lethargically at his heavy hair, trying to unpin the mass from under his sweaty back. Tom's silk sheets were cool against his overheated skin, and Harry found himself constantly scooting left to right to reclaim a n unheated section of material.

"Would you stop fidgeting?" Tom asked blearily from his right, voice muffled by the pillow he had rolled onto.

"It's hot."

"Whingeing little…"

Harry blindly waved his arm at the man, managing to strike him across the stomach with a satisfying thwack. The man grunted. Harry rolled to one side and peeked open one eye at the winded Tom, who had yet to lift his head from the pillow. "I need to get back soon."

"Then bloody well go already. Three times? _Three times_?! I am far too old for this."

"You always say that, but it didn't stop you from bending me over your damned desk."

Harry heard Tom give a snort before the head rolled to the side, crimson eyes peeking out from shorn bangs, "You deserved it."

Harry looked away, staring at a cobweb that clung to the ceiling. "Would you have stopped if I had said no?"

The silence was uncomfortable and stretching, Harry losing himself in staring at the faint sway of the dusty web. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer, and yet at the same time he knew he needed to. Harry didn't know how long it had been by the time he Tom sighed heavily and pushed himself up on his elbow, cracking his neck. "And if I said I wouldn't have?"

Harry wasn't sure how to answer that, and he slid his eyes towards Tom. "I don't know."

"Then isn't the question negligible?"

Harry pursed his lips. "Maybe."

Again there was silence, heavy and stifling. Harry found himself staring at the newly cut length of Tom's hair, and before he realized it he had reached out and threaded his fingers in it. "Why did you cut it?"

Tom startled just a bit, eyes widening minutely before his usual expression replaced it. "I went several decades without being able to even see myself like this, let alone care for my appearance. I felt it appropriate to have it cut now that it will grow back again."

Harry hummed and decided it would be much to sentimental for him to mention that he had liked it longer. His thoughts went to his own hair, which was currently disheveled and pinned under his shoulder. "I want to cut mine."

"Don't you dare." Harry wasn't sure whether he or Tom was more surprised by that sudden declaration, if Tom's momentarily bewildered expression was anything to go by.

Harry raised an eyebrow in question. "You complain about it constantly, I would think you would want it out of the way."

Tom reached across the small space between them and captured a bit of wayward nearly black hair, letting it fall between his fingers. Harry watched as the two foot strands stretched across the small gap between them before Tom scoffed and dropped it, managing to look graceful as he flopped onto his back. "I am used to it, that's all."

Harry stifled the smile that wanted to stretch across his face, knowing it was foolish to let Tom see it.

"I'm exhausted, Potter." Tom fished his wand from where he always deposited it under his pillow regardless of the circumstances involved in them getting into the bed, silently casting a _Nox_ and turning over. "We'll finish business in the morning."

"I have to get back to Hogwarts, Tom."

The sound that came from Tom's throat, had Harry not known Lord Voldemort could never possibly do so, would have been classified as a whinge. "Take a week off."

Harry snorted and stretched, already reluctantly pulling himself from the soft sheets. "Oh yes, that will go over well. 'Hey Dumbledore, sorry about my unexplained absence, I was busy having hot, sweaty man-sex with Voldemort. No big deal, eh?' That would go over well."

"The time turner has a twenty-four hour limit on it, you can stay through till tomorrow morning at least," Tom said logically, and Harry let himself hold onto the little flutters that Tom's attempt at convincing him produced. It was said in a flat tone as if Tom didn't honestly care one way or another, but Harry liked to think it was just that Tom wanted him there.

"I thought timeturners had a twelve hour grace period?"

In the dark Harry could not see Tom's eyes, but by the sarcastic drawl in his voice, he imagined that he had rolled them. "As if something _I_ own would ever be the standard model. Come now, Potter, give me some credit. Modifications are disgustingly easy on timeturners, though I have yet to discover how they are created, it is only a matter of altering the latent magic, extending it, to increase the device's capabilities…"

Tom went on like this for some time, and Harry found himself sinking back to the bed, silk tempting his bare skin. Would it hurt, really, to stay the night? It had been a couple of weeks since he had slept truly well as he seemed only to be able to when sharing the bed with a warm body. Really, it would be beneficial, wouldn't it?

"I ran into a few problems with placing the blood wards on it; the magic disrupted the usual spell, so I had to alter it to…" Harry snorted silently as he realized Tom was _still_ on about the timeturner.

"Riddle me this, Tom."

The discursive monologue ended abruptly, and Harry wished he could see the expression on Tom's face in the lengthy pause that ensued. After a moment he heard a scoff. "I am going to pretend that you did not just quote a muggle comic book at me."

"Fine by me, Tom," Harry said easily. "While you do that, I'll just pretend you didn't get the reference, hmm?"

A hand found his hair and yanked it, leaving Harry cursing as he found a comfortable position. He would worry about how soft he had become in the morning. For now, he simply rolled towards Tom's warmth and relished in the feeling of contentment provided.

"I would have stopped."

Harry didn't respond to the whispered comment, but he smiled in the darkness and chalked up a win for himself.

* * *

Harry was cold. He pulled the blanket tighter around his bare skin and reached blindly for Tom's warmth, hand grasping for what his mind foggily referred to a his personal heater. It took long moments for his sleep fogged brain to comprehend that the faded warmth where a body had once been signaled that Tom was, in fact, not there. Harry cracked an eye and the realization that he was alone in bed set in, causing a frown to curve his lips. He forced himself to ignore the exaggerated disappointment that he would not get to deal with a somnolent Dark Lord.

It wasn't hard to find Tom, as Harry had never had any doubts to where he would be that early in the morning if not in ensconced in his blankets querulously, though the man made no acknowledgment of his presence. Cigarette in hand, Tom had pulled himself up onto the wide sill, staring out at the bleak midwinter sky.

Harry made no attempt to hide his presence, sure Tom had noticed him regardless of his inaction, walking to the sill and propping his elbows on it. The wind that blew in was freezing against his bare torso, and Harry wondered how long Tom had been sitting here when he noticed the cigarette in his hand had long since burned itself out.

"It isn't like you to willingly get out of bed so early without a reason," Harry said blithely. "Did something happen?"

Harry turned his face to his right just a bit to take in Tom's expression, which was forcibly closed. Crimson eyes slowly tracked to him, a finely shaped eyebrow raising imperiously. "Since when do you know my habits so well, Potter?"

"I don't yet, really, but your aversion to the waking world isn't a… _riddle_, y'know."

"Don't start on that again." Finally the blank face had cracked, showing an exasperated glare.

"Well, then hurry up and start answering me. What happened?"

"Nothing happened. I woke up earlier than usual and came down here."

"You were smoking," Harry said, motioning towards the cigarette in Tom's hand. "I've only caught you at it twice and both times were when you were stressing over something serious."

Tom's face flashed indecipherably for a moment before he looked away, back to the gloomy morning. Something about the situation made Harry pause, and for once he decided that saying nothing might be the best course of action. He sighed and stood, stretching his back.

"Well, I've got to have a piss, then I'm going to go get clothes on. It is cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey in here."

A soft snort. "Potter, there is such a thing as a warming charm."

Harry stopped in the doorway, blinking rapidly. "Well… fuck."

Harry escaped to the low sound of Tom's amusement, smiling to himself.

* * *

The mundane paperwork that had needed to be done could not be called exciting, but Harry had been entertained nonetheless. He had convinced Tom to extend his desk a bit and let him move around to the other side, no longer an intrusion but a part of the office. It had not saddened him nearly as much as it had in the past when Tom once again took on his Voldemort guise and met with various Death Eaters, and Harry had found himself amused to watch them trip over themselves to explain their failures or mistakes.

Tom overused the Cruciatus, Harry thought. He had Cruciated no less than a dozen minions for various reasons, and Harry wondered if there ever came a point where the curse became ineffective, where the mind stopped believing the tricks the spell played.

The day had been lackluster at best, tedious at worst. Tom's mood had not improved much as the day went on, often losing himself in thought. Harry had wondered through many of the morning hours about just what had disturbed the man so much, but he hadn't pushed him beyond his usual prodding.

After using the timeturner to take himself back to not long after dinner the day before, Harry hurried back to his dorm. Harry entered to find Neville leaning against what his mind dubbed as 'their' window, silently watching the lights of Hogsmeade in the distance. He and Neville rarely had such an opportune moment to talk. Ron was still with his family and Dean and Seamus were nowhere to be seen, and Harry walked up to watch the view beside the quiet boy.

"Are you going to tell me now?" Harry asked quietly after long minutes of silence, turning his eyes from the glass to Neville.

"What is there to say, really, Harry? I told you in the Room… I follow _you_. Luna feels the same way."

"So, are you two dating now?" Harry couldn't help but ask the question, a smirk growing on his lips.

"Me and Luna?" Neville squeaked, "No, no, no. Luna…" the brunet grew serious again, sighing. "Until last year, you know how useless I felt. I couldn't do the same things the others could, I didn't have talent for much of anything. So I could grow plants. Who _cares_, really? I mean, don't get me wrong, I love my plants…"

"Neville, it's alright." Harry chuckled and shook his head. "You don't have to explain what you mean. I get it."

"Yeah, well…" He sighed. "Anyway, last year, the DA really helped me. I felt… like I was a part of something great, like I actually was worthy to be considered your friend. For the first time in my life, I wasn't invisible. I had watched you and Ron and Hermione all those years, seen the horrible things you went through. I wasn't blind like a lot of people. I didn't see the Boy-Who-Lived since Gran was against fairy tales. Said it would rot my brain or something. I didn't grow up like most Wizarding kids did hearing stories of your greatness. I saw a boy who really was a lot like me, whose parents were gone like mine, and who had the whole world sitting on his shoulders and was breaking under the weight."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, looking away. He was a bit perturbed by how accurate and observant Neville was. He knew, of course, that the boy had been growing more confident, but even the year before he wouldn't have imagined this level of honesty from him.

"Anyway, you had enough things going on last year, even though I knew you would be there for me if I needed you. Luna felt the same. She… she really understood me, being an outcast in her own house and laughed at by even her dormmates. You were the first person to not laugh at her like she was an idiot for what she thought, just like you were for me. I used to resent the Sorting Hat for not putting me in Hufflepuff like it considered, because I might have fit in more there… but then, I wouldn't really know you, would I? And I'd still be afraid of my own shadow and of standing up for what was right. When you started being… strange… this year, I talked to Luna and she told me what was happening. And she asked me what I would do if you went Dark. I told her I'd follow you to the end of the earth."

Harry ignored the uncomfortable gratitude swelling in his chest and latched on to a different matter. "How did she know?"

"She said the Wrackspurts had told her."

Harry gave a wry smirk, but decided to leave further questioning on that to Luna herself. "Do you realize what this entails, Neville? Following me means being a Death Eater. It means killing and following Voldemort."

Neville cringed and looked away, and Harry watched him solemnly. He couldn't imagine the boy really going through with this, really fighting so harshly. He was thankful for the sentiment of following him, but he just couldn't see Neville working out with the Death Eaters.

"I know what you're thinking." Harry pulled himself from his reverie and caught hazel eyes which shone gold in the moonlight. "You're thinking I couldn't handle it, right? I don't blame you. I don't know if I could really, and I don't think I want to take life. I want to be a MediWizard, you know."

Harry nodded, personally thinking it would make a fine occupation for Neville.

"And not some crap one, either, that would just leave well enough alone and leave patients to rot. I want to be a good MediWizard who _cares_ about his patients, who won't give up until a solution is found. And I guess because of that, the idea of, umm, k-killing people doesn't sound all that nice. But I don't want to follow the Light only because it is what I was raised on. I don't even know what side I follow. Sure, I don't think blood purity is all that important, but if the Dark is something _you_ follow, Harry, then there must be something about it that is important, right? And wouldn't the Dark need people who know a thing or two about healing and antidotes, anyway?"

"And Bellatrix?"

Neville's face hardened. The effect was muted by his habitually innocent eyes and genial face, but the expression was nearly fierce enough to be called a scowl. "Oh, I'd kill her. Easy. I'd be allowed to, right?"

A smile slowly blossomed across Harry's face and he laughed, quietly but with true emotion. He turned and impulsively hugged the other boy, laughing all the while. Harry didn't know why he was so amused or why his smile wouldn't fade, but he was thankful for this boy beside him. There was a gap between them, as there was between Harry and all his past connections, but just as with Hermione he could see the first hints of a bridge to connect them. And Harry was glad.

* * *

Seamus was lying on his bed, a rather foolish grin on his face. "Merlin but that girl has great jabs. Wouldn't mind gettin' me hands on…"

"You're crude," Dean cut in, rolling his eyes.

"Y'only say that because you've got a set of your own."

Dean scowled at his friend, and Harry resisted the urge to sneer at them. Honestly, teenagers were so annoying.

"I'm serious, Dean! Lavender has the best knobs in the school! Angelina Johnson would beat her out hands down, but since she finished up last year Lavender's it. Though I'm willing to take bets on whether her baz matches up with being a natural blonde…"

Harry escaped to the bathroom for a piss and a shower, needing to escape the banalities of teenage males. The hot water did him good, and even if he wasn't in his natural body he took the time to meticulously condition his hair. It was unnecessary, but the luxury was nice nonetheless.

When he returned to the room, he was glad to see that Dean was already shut in his bed and Seamus didn't look ready to attempt conversing with him next. Harry pulled the towel from his hips and absently dried his short, unruly hair, made entirely black by the water. The boys in his dorm had gotten used to his lack of modesty, as incongruent to the old Harry as it was. He fished out the horrid striped pyjamas with a moue of distaste.

Harry had just climbed into bed, not at all tired but needing the pretense, when Ron tumbled in, pale faced and red eyed. Immediately Harry's heart constricted, and guilt gave a bitter taste to his mouth. But once again, though his affection for Ron and his other younger friends was genuine and that he had caused the pain hurt him, he felt no remorse for having taken away the boy's father, even in a indirect way. He wanted something to say, the quick wit he wrapped around himself like armor failing.

But then, in a situation like this, any words would seem contrived.

Ron hardly even seemed to notice that he was not alone, not even sparing a glance for Harry or the other boys in the room before stumbling to his bed and collapsing limply. Harry sighed and wrestled with himself. Did he have a right to comfort his friend, knowing that he had been the one to send his father to his death? Was it overly selfish for him to want to alleviate his guilt by going to Ron and lending support? He supposed it was, really, but he found his legs moving regardless of his turmoil, taking him toward where Ron was sprawled facedown on top of his covers.

Harry sat beside him quietly for a few minutes, waiting for Ron to speak. Seamus opened his mouth several times as if to comment, but a glare from Harry made him turn back to his nighttime ritual. Harry sighed silently and placed a hand on Ron's bicep. "Ron," said Harry. "Come on, Ron. Talk to me."

Harry was ignored.

"Come on, mate, tell me what happened."

When Ron finally spoke, his voice was rough and severely muted by the covers his face was pressed into, but many mornings of dealing with Tom grumbling into his pillow had given Harry a talent for understanding muffled speech. "He's dead. My dad is dead. He was missing all day, but then his body appeared at the ministry. He… he…"

Harry sighed again as a sob broke Ron's explanation, the redhead's shoulders shaking silently. Harry knew the best thing to do was ignore this for the moment, as Ron's pride would not appreciate his tears being commented on. Harry merely let the hand that had been resting on his friend's arm stroke it softly, providing silent comfort. Harry felt rather glad that Lucius had had the courtesy to return the body, giving the Weasleys something to bury. He wondered how bad of shape the body had been in by that point, however.

"Mum's gone round the twist. She keeps acting like nothing's happened." Another sob broke through, but it sounded ironic and depreciating. "Did nothing but load us up with food all day. But her eyes… oh Merlin her eyes…"

"Shh," Harry said softly. "Sleep would do you good, you know? We'll get through this."

"I just wish I knew why." And suddenly Ron turned, bright blue eyes rimmed in agitated red. "What did Dad do to deserve to die?"

Harry withdrew his hand and steepled his fingers together, looking at the bedspread before answering softly. "I don't think it had much to do with deserving death, Ron. Lots of people died last night, the papers said. Your dad was just there, I bet. This is war, and he was stuck in the middle when the forces of one side went against the other."

"When I find out who did this, I will kill them."

Harry didn't think he had ever heard Ron sound more resolute, and he hid the cringe his friend's words provoked. He wondered, for a moment, if that was technically referring to him or to Lucius before noting in his head that despite the soft spot he had for Ron and Hermione, Ron would never get the chance to kill either. Harry was actually quite surprised by the protective vehemence that came over him when he thought of Ron killing Lucius. The man was no longer his toy, and it seemed that Harry had come to regard him as a friend in the last months. Curious, that. Harry chose not to respond to Ron at all, in case his tone or expression gave away the glare that he was smothering.

"Um, guys?" Harry looked up to see Neville shifting nervously from foot to foot, a hesitant smile on his face. "Is it alright if I turn out the light?"

Ron didn't move, eyes now staring at his open bed curtains, but Harry returned Neville's smile. "Yeah, I think sleep is something we all need."

Harry stood and stared at Ron until the boy have a disgruntled sigh and moved himself under the covers, not even bothering to disrobe or take off his shoes. Harry let him be, his friendship not extending to stripping and dressing the redhead. He made his way to his own bed and grimaced at closed his eyes at the wishful thought of returning to Riddle Manor to crawl in bed with Tom. It was a nice thought, but Harry really had no wish to appear as clingy as that would make him seem. Or was it 'make him _be_'? And then Harry remembered that he technically _was_ in bed with Tom in this moment, the timeturner having allowed him to come back to this night. How disappointing, that even if his pride could be conquered that he could not run to the manor.

Harry snorted and forced himself under the cold blanket, forgoing the even colder sheet. The cheap cotton felt wrong after the brush of silk from what had been for him the night before… but Harry needed to get away from that train of thought.

As it was, sleep was evasive.

* * *

Hermione stared blankly at Ron as he stumbled, bleary eyed, down the stairs to the common room. Harry winced behind him, already feeling Hermione's disjointed emotions welling up. It was strange to have a sense of what she was feeling, but it helped him to keep her monitored. Right now, he couldn't answer to why she was struggling with the urge to strike Ron, why she wanted to… well, Harry cut himself off from the imagery and forced calm onto her.

"Hey Ron, breakfast is calling, huh?"

The redhead stared and him before giving a hesitant smile. "Yeah, mate."

Subdued, Harry walked ahead of his two silent friends. This was getting out of hand. Between Ron's reticence and Hermione's potion-induced state of vacuity, Harry felt very, very alone all of the sudden. Hermione, hopefully, would be back to normal by the end of the day; Tom had predicted no more than thirty-six hours of adjustment to the potion, so she should be back to something resembling normal by lunch. He would still have to keep half an eye on her to calm any wrathful spurts, but she would once again be able to function without watchful eyes on her.

"G'morning Harry."

Harry blinked and turned, eyes catching on Parvati. "Hullo there." He paused as he noticed her wan pallor. "Is something wrong?"

"Ah…" she smiled thinly. "Nothing to worry about, Harry." She glanced back at the other two thirds of the golden trio and pitched her voice low. "She was thrashing in her sleep, my lord."

Harry nodded to show he had heard. He had asked her to keep an eye on Hermione in the dorm to be sure nothing happened while he was unable to be there. "It shouldn't happen again tonight. I have assurances the aftereffects should pass by this afternoon. Did you stay up all night watching her or something? You look like death warmed up."

The girl grimaced plainly. "It isn't something I can talk about here. Let's just say… I don't look forward to the twenty-third."

Harry remained in the dark, but nodded nonetheless. "Well, take care of yourself, alright?"

"Thank you, my lord," she whispered, speeding up to get ahead of the bulk of the Gryffindors filing down the many flights of stairs. Harry assumed she was trying to catch up to her sister.

Harry wasn't expecting to be set upon by a rather obese barn owl the second he stepped into the Great Hall, but the narrow, loopy handwriting was all it took to know. Dumbledore wanted to see him after classes.

* * *

Hazel eyes trailed after the boy as he left the Great Hall, hand clenched tight around a small square of parchment. From the closed expression and tense posture, along with the way green eyes had flicked to the seat the Headmaster was currently beaming out from, they deduced the old man had called Potter in to see him. This could be nothing, but it could also be very bad, as Dumbledore had been thoughtful throughout the entire day before.

And when Dumbledore was thoughtful, people were sent out to die in the name of his own sense of righteousness.

The watcher decided to risk their cover to see what was to come, because they could not be caught unawares. Too much rode on the skinny shoulders of the boy for them to let this pass.

* * *

Age-lined fingers idly traced the surface of cooled tea. Albus's mind was nowhere near his office currently as he awaited an audience with his most famous student. His mind was over a century in the past, writhing impotently in convoluted circles within circles. How could everything go so wrong in such a short period of time? Though he knew it could surely be worse, control seemed to be slipping from his grasp and he was no longer able to predict every turn.

Would history repeat itself? As he had watched the young Malfoy join hands with Harry, his only thought had been that time had a horrible sense of humor. The two had practically been at one another's throats for their entire tenure in Hogwarts, and then suddenly they make mysterious amends and call a truce in front of the entire student body? Albus's stomach wrenched.

Part of Albus thought he was being over-hasty. All of his instincts kept saying that he should do something about his charge's growing freewill, but every time he examined the boy's activities Harry came off as mild and supple as he'd been since he was a first year, if a filled with a bit more teen angst. But that was to be expected after the trials he had been through, so Albus let the discrepancies slide. What good was a mindless saviour, after all?

But the more he let slide, the more willful Harry became. It was nothing jarring, nothing spectacular, but Albus prided himself on the details. And the details told him that his most important chess piece was slipping away, gaining to much of a mind of its own. But how could he curb the obstinate boy without destroying the tragic personality he had cultivated over the years? He needed the boy to be able to deal with the public; he would be no good broken.

Again, Albus was getting ahead of himself. The boy was simply rebelling, surely. Once he had worked through the stage, he would once again be ready to take on his adversary, finally ridding the world of the monster Albus had unintentionally created. A sigh. Tom had been a bad egg from the beginning, it had been foolish of him to think he could change that.

A chime sounded from a small silver plaque on his desk, glowing faintly as _'Harry Potter'_ was letter by letter etched upon it. Harry had finally answered his summons and had given the password.

"Come in, Mister Potter," Albus said with a benign grin that was audible in his voice, smile only widening as the messy head that was so like young James's had been poked through the door. And those eyes, Lily's eyes for sure, peering with curiosity. But Lily's eyes they were no more, and Albus's smile became strained as he caught a glimpse of true loathing before it flitted away.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?"

"Hello, my boy, I wish we were meeting under better circumstances."

Harry ran a hand through his hair and nodded, seating himself in the chair. Albus kept twinkling eyes on his every movement, trying to analyze every nuance. The boy seemed unwilling to meet his eyes.

"Tea? Sherbet Lemon?"

"No thank you, sir. I just finished dinner."

Albus tried another route. "Are your classes going well?"

A bewildered scrunched expression formed itself, incredulousness rolling off the boy in waves. "Fine, sir."

"The workload isn't too much this year? It is nothing so bad as your NEWT year will be, but from my memory sixth year held quite a lot of changes in the curriculum."

The boy's left eye twitched. "Can we please get to the point, _Professor_?"

Albus sighed in resignation, seeing the moodiness inherent in teens presenting itself. He tried a different tactic, hoping the loosen the boy's defensive nerves and elicit more candid responses. "How is young Mister Malfoy?"

Harry blinked rapidly. "Umm, Malfoy? I don't know, really. We only just called this truce…"

"Oh Harry, you needn't be shy," Albus said with a wave of his hand, though a tiny niggling doubt surfaced. Was he reading too much into this, seeing too many similarities to his own past and superimposing them? No. The signs were there. "I am aware of your… closeness with Mister Malfoy."

The scrunched expression was back. "Excuse me?"

"Your… relationship with the young Malfoy."

"Rela…" For a moment it looked as though the boy was holding back a laugh, lips quivering, but any thoughts to that end ran from Albus' mind as Harry's face contorted with anger, embarrassment. "You think I'm…" Indignity now, contorting the young face. "I like _girls_."

"One does not necessarily have to be attracted to a specific sex, you know, Harry my boy…" Albus floundered, watching the boy's face. Those eyes still avoided his, only fueling all the suspicions writhing under the surface. Could he have misinterpreted the situation?

"No. I like girls. Pretty, soft, giggly girls. Girls are great… uhh… And I love boobs. Boobs are just great, aren't they Headmaster?"

Ah. Denial, then. It was common at this age, not to mention his muggle upbringing. Perhaps he was not aware it was acceptable? Well, not to many… but the Wizarding world had held old fashioned beliefs for a very long time, the true old beliefs of the ancient Greeks and Romans, seeing it as common enough but meant to be ignored. There would always be those heavily against the idea, as there would always be those to practice it. It was just the way of things.

"I am afraid I would not know, Mister Potter."

The boy did a double take, finally locking eyes with Albus and staring. Albus was momentarily taken aback by the calculating glint that overtook the vibrant green. He could practically envision the gears whirring behind the boy's eyes, though he wasn't sure what, exactly, had sparked this. He knew, however, that the look was far too cold for the boy he had come to know these years, and an uneasy feeling bloomed.

"Harry?"

The boy snapped out of it and looked away, bangs shielding his eyes. "I'm sorry for being so short, sir. My scar has been hurting these last few days, and it makes me snappish."

The change of subject was abrupt, but a new thought formed in Albus' mind, disrupting his misgivings. "Have you been having visions again, my boy?"

"No," he said quickly, too quickly Albus thought. "Just pain. Last night…"

Albus wished he could see the boy's face, his eyes, to read the feelings currently going through his mind. There was something _off_ and Albus couldn't pinpoint it. His fingers tightened around his teacup. "Are you sure, Harry, that you did not get a vision of the attack on the Ministry?"

A long pause. "I only felt death, sir. No vision."

"You were put into the hospital wing, I was told. I was away rallying the Order, but young Ronald said you awoke screaming."

He saw a tensing of the boy's muscles and the doubt turned into fear. Albus was missing something, something big. Could he have been wrong? Was he losing his chance to end this war? He was but an old man anymore, he could not win this war without his weapon. Questions spiraled through his mind, and Albus forced his breathing to stay steady and his apprehension hidden. If there was something, he couldn't risk the boy knowing he was onto him.

"May I go, sir? I have homework for Defense that needs to be done."

Albus nodded, straining to replace his erased smile. "Of course, my boy. Take care to rest well, won't you? And see that Mister Weasley is coping."

The boy left without another word, leaving Albus staring at where his phoenix sat taciturnly on his perch, not asleep as Albus had assumed so close to his burning day.

"What say you, old friend?"

A quiet, unsure trill was his response.

Albus stopped his fruitless worrying and pulled a book down from a shelf behind his desk, already flipping through it. There was work to be done, and he only hoped he was not too late.

He _would_ know the truth.

* * *

**Blooper - Draco the Nun/ Empy and Tsurai**

(stemming from accidentally typing in 'Sister Malfoy' instead of 'Mister Malfoy')

_Draco: _I would NEVER be a nun! That cloth hat would severely mess up my perfect hair, and the fashion is so last century! Really, monochrome does nothing for my complexion. I require deep jewel tones to contrast with my fair colouring. Come to think of it, I really need to talk to the Dark Lord about those drab uniforms...  
_Tom: _/twitch/ _Avada Kedavra_...Oh thank MERLIN.  
_Lucius: _I think I should be upset... but I just can't bring myself to be. Thank you, my lord. /pause/ Though I really must bring up that my son did have a minor point on the quality of the robes standard issue for Death Eaters...  
_Tom: _/shakes wand threateningly/ I don't bloody CARE what you think! I love black satin, so that's what you're staying in!  
_Bella: _What about black lace? I like black lace, and it would go ever so wonderfully with my crazed eye-sparkle and blood-spattered front. /grin/  
_Harry: _/cough/_avadakedavra_/cough/  
_Tom: _Potter, why did you kill her?  
_Harry: _Uh, I like green?  
_Tom: _/shrug/ Yeah, okay. /stares into Harry's eyes/ I like green, too.

**The next day  
**All death eaters are dressed in a lurid green during the raid.  
_Aurors:_ /grin/ This will be SO easy.

**Meanwhile  
**Harry and Tom have mansex.

**The END! **/dances/

PS. Lucius was happy, right up until an Auror got him.. With a tripping hex. Over a cliff.

* * *

Revised: 3/20/09


	32. Crepuscular

Disclaimer: I does not own. I does not want to. Would be shite if I owned. XD

Note: The Hallows are left out of this story, as I don't feel like integrating them. XD It is just like with Hocruxes… they just never existed, and anything that might have been entwined with them has a new explanation. No biggie in the storyline, though.

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Crepuscular // like twilight; relating to or resembling the fading light of dusk_

* * *

Harry vaulted over a railing, using his preternatural abilities to speed him along as he made his way for Gryffindor tower. He minded his other senses to be sure he wasn't seen performing inhuman stunts, but did not slow otherwise. He _finally_ had the last piece of the puzzle, the missing slice of information that he had been toiling over for months now.

In researching Dumbledore, he had found many unexplainable things, from his father's incarceration, to the sudden death of his mother, to the mysterious death of his squib sister. But throughout his investigation, the one thing that stood out most was his convoluted friendship with Gellert Grindelwald. How could a man who had come to stand for tolerance and uniting the muggle and magical worlds have once plotted for Wizarding supremacy? It made no sense, and confusion brought on by that had plagued Harry. It seemed too contradictory, too shallow for the eighteen year old Albus Dumbledore to have fallen in so fully with someone like Grindelwald.

But then revelation had smacked him full force across the face as he had played with Dumbledore in his office, trying to keep the man off balance and perhaps focusing on Harry's sexuality over his demeanor. Albus Dumbledore was gay. Now, really, this wasn't much of a revelation, as sexual preference had very little to do with much of anything (and really, what straight man would wear those colours, anyway? Only the most flamboyant would dare), but it made that final piece in the puzzle that had plagued him so.

Because Dumbledore had been in love with Grindelwald.

It made perfect sense. Why would an exceptional Light-sided boy suddenly make plans for world domination? Why would a previously perfect example of an upstanding Head Boy suddenly go down so dark a path? Love made people do stupid things, things they never would have otherwise. And so the pieces fell into place, and Harry was thrilled. Homosexuality in and of itself was nothing to look twice at, but to be able to tell the world that their precious Albus Dumbledore had been involved with the former Dark Lord? Oh, but irony could be sweet.

The biggest question still remaining was just how long that relationship had gone on, but the truth didn't particularly matter. Make it seem as if the two had been involved for years into Grindelwald's reign and suspicion would be heaped onto Dumbledore. Add all the other inconsistencies and dubious events, and the world would be in an uproar.

Perfect.

Gryffindor's common room was in sight, and Harry slowed to a tense walk as he approached the Fat Lady.

"King of the castle."

"Oh hello there, dear," the portrait simpered, batting her eyes. "You look a bit overwrought, is everything alright?"

Harry ignored her, yanking on the portrait impatiently to speed its opening. He registered her squawking indignantly, but pushed through the portrait hole nonetheless, making his way for the stairs to the boy's dorm.

"Harry?" Hermione was suddenly at his side, and he was momentarily distracted by the intelligent gleam that had returned to her eyes. It seemed Tom's calculation had been correct, thankfully. "Is something wrong?"

Harry shook his head and motioned for her to follow him. "No, nothing wrong. But I've had an epiphany."

"Oh?" Warm brown eyes lit considerably at the possibility of knowledge. "Well, what's keeping you? Come on, then…"

Harry chuckled as she passed him and began tugging him by the arm up the stairs, all determination and fluffy curls. It was nice having her back. Things hadn't been the same without her. Perhaps now she could pull Ron out of his rut, as Harry was not qualified for emotional support. He was too cynical for that.

Opening the door to the dorm, Harry blinked in surprise to see Luna Lovegood meandering around, staring at inanimate objects with a cocked head before nodding and walking on. Neville sat on his bed, watching her with the air of someone who had watched this scene too many times to be affected. Ron was also present, though sleeping fitfully still on top of the bedclothes.

Harry locked the door when he entered, going to his trunk and rifling through it to find his scroll. He wanted this noted immediately, in case Tom decided to act prematurely.

"Harry?" Neville's voice was toned down, likely to be sure he didn't wake Ron. That was silly of him; after over five years in the same dorm, he should know that so long as Ron was snoring he wouldn't wake up even if a blasting curse went off next to his head. Harry appreciated the prudence, though, and took the precaution to point his wand towards the sleeping redhead and cast a mild sleeping hex that required removal by the caster to be broken.

"Ah!" Harry yanked out the scroll and unwound it, then swished his wand to set it steady in midair. With a twitch of his fingers a quill floated out of his trunk followed closely by a pot of ink, which joined the paper in hovering securely.

He glimpsed a lot of small notations (including several longwinded ones which were surely made by Hermione) in the margins and a few lines in various hands at the foot of the scroll, and was inordinately pleased that his newly found comrades had been doing as he asked. A pleased grin widened on his face as he set to jotting out his thoughts on the situation, tying in his findings in with previously held suspicions and questions. He could feel Hermione peering over his shoulder, making soft exclamations every so often as he wrote.

With a flourish, he finished off the paragraphs of conclusions, and watched with a grin as Hermione flopped back onto his bed with a shrewd expression. His smile turned to Neville, who was watching with interest, and Luna who acted for all the world as if she was alone in the room, humming under her breath and still examining everything.

"Well, now that that's done; what's Luna doing in here, Neville? I thought you two weren't dating…" his smile was sly, and he laughed when Neville blushed brightly.

"Guh… I… _Harry_… I told you it wasn't like that!"

"I'm just taking the piss out of you, don't get upset."

Neville, still rather red, huffed but didn't answer but to nod. Harry laughed quietly to himself, finding Neville's awkward timidity amusing. He would really have to work him through that.

He turned to Luna, cocking his head. "Hi there, Luna. You alright?"

"Hmm?" The girl turned light eyes on him and a smile crept onto her lips. "Oh, hullo Harry-who-isn't-quite-Harry. I'm fine of course; there is talk of a Blibbering Humdinger in the forest, so I'm looking forward to checking out those claims…"

Harry made an effort to hold back a laugh. "Just be sure to be careful, hm?"

"Oh, of course, Harry."

Harry decided that how Luna knew wasn't something that really needed questioning, and he merely smiled serenely at the small group of teens. It was nostalgic to sit here with this group, with Ron's snores punctuating the conversation in the background. And to think that these three teens actually knew the truth and stood beside him regardless. It touched him in a way few things did anymore, and Harry watched as Hermione grumbled under her breath and Luna went back to studying things vacantly, canting her head side to side as if holding silent conversation. And perhaps she was; you could never tell with Luna.

"What about Remus, Harry?"

Harry paused in his skimming of the scroll, fingers twitching. "What about him, Hermione?"

"Did Dumbledore tell you he was missing?"

No. He hadn't. The idea angered Harry, that the man could willfully hold back information that would have been important to him had circumstances been different. What was the old man playing at? "No, he didn't say a thing about the raid last night but to ask if I had witnessed it in a vision."

The room was silent but for Luna's rather tone-deaf humming, conclusions obvious to them all.

"Harry…" Luna's voice was even more distant than usual, and she didn't turn to look at him. "You need to settle things with Blaise Zabini soon, or it might turn out badly. And there will be an owl for you in the morning with bad news."

All eyes in the room focused on Luna, and Harry raised a speculative eyebrow. There was no feeling in the air like prophecy, and Luna's eyes were no more unfocused than usual. So how had she known there was any problem with Zabini? And how could she know of a letter that would be sent? Harry reminded himself of his previous decision not to ask, but curiosity welled up nonetheless.

"That is preposterous." Ah, Hermione to the rescue. "Don't tell me you've fallen in with that Divination nonsense, Luna."

"Oh no, of course not. The Wrackspurts told me."

Harry stifled a groan, but at the same time found his curiosity peaking. Wasn't this what Neville had given as how Luna had known about his change in allegiance?

"Oh Merlin help us," Hermione's disgruntled voice mumbled from just behind him. She spoke louder when she continued, sitting up and giving Luna an exasperated look. "There is no such thing as a Wrackspurt!"

"The Wrackspurts say that for a muggleborn in a magical world, you are remarkably skeptical of things you don't understand."

Hermione turned red, and Harry snuck a furtive glance at Neville. The boy seemed to agree with him by shrinking in on himself, scooting back out of the figurative line of fire. Hermione stood now, planting her hands on her hips and narrowing her eyes. "I am _skeptical_ of a girl who has her head in the clouds and believes in all manner of creature that even the _magical world_ knows don't exist!"

"Are you always so quick to dismiss that which you don't understand?" Luna's smile was widening, and Harry was struck by how much the girl was enjoying the situation. But then, Luna didn't generally feel comfortable enough with people to actually talk back to them.

Harry would later be rather angry with himself for neglecting his surveillance, but he had been so engrossed in the spectacle of Luna baiting Hermione that he had no time to react. Hermione yanked out her wand with an agility he wouldn't have expected from the girl and let a curse fly. "_Scorpiortus!_" She hardly paused as the scorpion burst from her wand, "_Oppugno!_"

Instantly the rather large scorpion set itself toward Luna, tail swaying ominously. Harry cast a glance at Luna who hadn't lost her blithe smile, and Neville who was already moving towards her. In a different situation, Harry might have laughed at the protective air Neville was holding despite his fear, totally eradicating any doubts Harry might have had about the nature of the younger boy's feelings. But as it was, Harry gritted his teeth in irritation at himself and grabbed a fierce hold of the string of Hermione's consciousness, attempting to coax it into calmness.

"Silly bint, challenging your betters. Will you still look at me so vacuously when poison courses through your veins? Will you beg me then? It would be nice to hear you come down to earth, screaming for mercy."

Harry yanked on his hold of the potion harshly, even as he cast an _Evanesco_ at the scorpion. Hermione's rage shrieked in his mind, but he held it firmly. Briefly the thought crossed his mind that to let this loose in a battle would be a fantastic weapon, but for now, Hermione seemed unable to tell friend from foe. The calm came slowly, and the brunette collapsed on the plush red carpeting of the dorm floor.

"Well, that was fun," Luna said with a laugh. "We should do that more often."

Harry only glared.

* * *

Harry loped toward the Slytherin table without meeting anyone's eyes, hoping that by avoiding the many gazes turning to focus on him he might appear less annoyed and confident than he was. Harry Potter, after all, should look disconcerted to approach the snake's nest.

Draco's slivery eyes met his before he had even made it halfway, his uncaring nod of acknowledgment belied by the curiosity that seemed to ooze out of him. Harry supposed he had a right to be, really; he hadn't notified him of any new segment to their play, and he was sure Draco knew it much be something important to bring him strolling across house borders. Half the Hall was watching him in various states of blatancy, from the Gryffindors who stared with ill-concealed irritation, to the less informed Slytherins who had blank masks in place, but obvious disgust lying not far beneath.

The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws watched on with their own curiosity, but Harry often thought the two houses were the better of the bunch. They were not polarized as the snakes and lions always seemed to be, able to see all sides from their outer vantage point. Often ignored and underestimated, the badgers and eagles were able to stay under the radar. Harry had often wished to be a part of either house when he was actually attending school, if only to be able to pass notice. But then… he would have still been Harry Potter, wouldn't he have?

Shaking out of the strange rambling path his thoughts had gone down, Harry gave something that crossed between a smile and a smirk as he reached him. "Hey Draco." Harry leaned towards him, a hand holding his weight on the table's edge. It was casual enough to hopefully forestall any rumors, but he knew Dumbledore was reading into every move he made. "What's going on?"

Draco shot him a puzzled look but played along. "Just fine, Potter. What brings the Lion's King into our humble table?"

"I wouldn't say I was the king of anything," Harry said with a dry look, leaning in closer. "But anyway, I just wanted to see if you wanted to meet me in the Room later? And maybe bring your friends?"

No one damning was listening, though quite a few seventh years who were close enough to overhear looked calculating. Draco scanned his eyes over Harry's face before nodding. "All our friends?"

Harry hummed in his throat, widening his smile and continuing softly enough to not be heard away from the small group around them. "I found something interesting I want to share. Something… uhh… _my significant other_… needs to know, but I want it checked over once more."

Draco turned a bit green but nodded nonetheless. "Right. At eight?"

"Sure."

Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor table with confident strides, still quite assured with himself. Things were going his way, finally, and the end was coming into sight.

Arriving back at the table, he met the furious blue eyes of Ron, sighing internally. He had forgotten that the boy hadn't been present for the truce between him and Malfoy, and the angry expression clearly showed his disapproval.

"In with the slimy gits now, Harry?"

"Ron…"

"No, he's right, Harry." Ginny. Damn. He had been avoiding the girl for weeks. Her voice was slowly rising in pitch, and Harry was tempted to smack a hand over her mouth to keep her from drawing any more attention that she was already garnering. "Slytherins? What in the hell happened while we were gone? Our father was killed by Death Eaters, and while we're away _mourning_, you suddenly make friends with that bastard Malfoy? What is going through your mind?!"

Harry cast the girl a dark look before turning back to Ron. "Ron, we aren't children anymore. Malfoy proposed a truce and I took it."

Harry knew things were bad when the redhead stood slowly, not lashing out or yelling, the angry red of his face that clashed so badly with his hair the only indication that anything was wrong. Blue eyes stared unflinchingly into green; Harry was horrified to see the telltale signs of tears filming over his friend's eyes. Ron spoke in a slow, controlled voice after a few long moments, filled not with anger but with genuine pain. "Of course, Harry."

And Harry tried his damndest to feel no regret as the redhead walked away, Ginny scowling and jumping up to follow him. He had too many things on his mind to be able to deal with this right now. But the grief in the blue eyes of his former best friend would surely haunt him from the background, no matter how sturdy his resolve.

* * *

"Potter, don't ever refer to the Dark Lord as your _significant other_ again. That was disturbing."

Harry chuckled as Draco entered with the other Slytherins at his back, having hardly waited for the door to close before speaking. "What would you prefer, Little Pretty? Lover? I thought that might perturb you more." Harry forcibly dismissed his tension over Ron's reaction; perhaps things were better this way. Wasn't it better for the let down to start now, rather than feeling worse when the truth about Harry came into the light?

Hermione snorted as she got up to join Lisa, her normal personality back in full force as she jutted her nose into the air. Obviously they were 'being children' again. Hermione never approved.

Draco made gagging noises and a few of the other Slytherins looked far too interested for their own good, but Harry couldn't care less at this point. Even with Ron's predictable reaction, Harry's mood was wonderful.

"Good Merlin, Potter, are you trying to make me regurgitate my dinner?"

"You should be happy that I prefer Voldemort to your father… or your mother for that matter… or your mother _and_ your father… hmm, you have such a pretty family…"

Draco seemed to ignore the comments on his parents, though Harry saw the color that suffused his cheeks and the way his fingers twitched at his sides. Robbed of his fun, Harry sat back in his chair and kicked up his feet, eyeing the Slytherins sardonically. "Don't you plan to take seats?"

"Well, Potter." It was Pansy who spoke up, inclining her head in a show of respect. "What have you got for us already?"

Harry glanced around the room; Padma was not present though Parvati was, strangely. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen Padma at all since the meeting a few weeks prior. What had Parvati said? She wasn't looking forward to the twenty-third? What could that have meant? It was the fifteenth now, so he still had a few days to find out. Harry dismissed his thoughts for now, focusing on the rest of the group. The young Selwyn was absent as well, but from Luna he knew that the fifth year Ravenclaws had Astronomy tonight. He had excused Neville from the proceedings, as his confidence without Luna or Harry right beside him was still dismal.

As for those who actually were present, Blaise Zabini stood near the door still, not glaring as usual but instead staring vacantly to some space near Harry, obviously lost in thought. Lisa Turpin sat next to Hermione on the couch, speaking in low tones over the scroll of information on Dumbledore, Zacharias Smith sitting a bit away listening with a skeptical expression. Draco was leading a still attentive Pansy to the couch, while Theodore Nott, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Tracey Davis, Millicent Bulstrode, and a few fifth years he was unacquainted with moved cautiously towards the various divans arranged in a semicircle. The lack of reduction in their number wasn't all that surprising, though Harry had never been a hundred percent sure they would be able to get over his identity.

"I need a few of you to work on putting the scroll information into something coherent. Skeeter will do the writing and embellishing, but I need intelligent people to order it all and make it concise. Wouldn't want her to miss anything important, hmm?" Harry smirked, "Hermione will be in charge of that, and I'd like Lisa and Draco on it as well. Who else?"

Draco rolled his eyes, "Sticking me with the women, Potter?"

"Oh, my mistake Little Pretty, but I thought you _were_ one. With all your primping, I thought for sure you were suited…"

Laughter was the immediate response, even the Slytherins noticeably holding back a response. Draco scowled, but he just stuck his nose into the air and let out a loud harrumph. "Says the one who spends half his time _playing_ the girl."

Harry himself laughed this time, lips curving. "You ought to try it sometime, you know, before talking down on it."

"No thank you, I like girls and that is unlikely to change."

"Well, that kills the betting pool, doesn't it?" Zacharias Smith cut in suddenly, a drooping look on his face. "Damn. I was down for five galleons."

"I'm down for ten, but I refuse to believe myself lost yet." Harry smirked, eyeing Draco. "No one that looks like him could possibly be straight."

Draco's look was positively indignant, but Pansy beat him to answering. "You know, I've wondered the same quite a few times. Who should I see to get put down for a few galleons myself?"

"Pansy!"

"What? It's true…"

Harry grinned at the girl, glad she was loosening up in his presence. In fact, the whole room's atmosphere was different this time. The majority of the Slytherins still looked out of place and uncomfortable, but they were no longer angry or defensive. The only dark looks were from the pride-wounded Draco and the still silent Zabini, his eyes watching Harry's every move.

"Don't you remember Yule Ball, Draco? I mean, any _other_ fourteen year old boy would have had no trouble…"

"Ever consider it was just you, dear Pansy?"

Pansy narrowed her eyes. "Ever consider that I know far worse things about you, Drakie-poo?"

"Alright, you two, enough. Amusing as this is, I need this scroll done tonight," Harry interceded.

Draco huffed and looked away. "Fine. I'd like Pansy and Theodore on this with me."

Harry waved a hand and let the three of them move to join the already busy Lisa and Hermione. "For the rest of you, I need you to listen up. In order for this war to be won, Dumbledore cannot die a martyr's death. We need doubts to spawn before he goes down, we need the entire Wizarding world to question his motives."

One of the Slytherin girls, Tracey Davis, gazed at him blankly. "How is hurting Dumbledore helping? Why not just kill him and get it over with? You have the power to do so, obviously, if the Dark Lord would count you high enough to be by his side. And unlike the Dark Lord, you have the access to the man. I don't understand why you've been here for four months and have done nothing."

Harry inclined his head. "I have been doing far from nothing. As I said, Dumbledore must not be seen as a victim, as someone who fell for the Light. The black stain upon him must be sufficient to keep the Light from gathering even more followers who are outraged at his demise. My allegiances will probably help with that, but this is the most important step to winning this war."

"Taking over the ministry is the most important step to winning the war." One of the fifth years Harry didn't know had spoken, but the tone was soft and nearly questioning rather than rude, so Harry didn't bother reprimanding.

"Yes, that is very important. But who does the Light look to?"

"You."

Harry blinked at Goyle (or was that Crabbe?) before chuckling. "Well, I suppose so, yes. But I am no longer an obstacle, as I am very firmly with the Dark in this. No, I meant who they look to and is our opposition."

The large boy frowned and looked down, obviously disappointed to have answered wrong. Harry snorted mentally. Inbreeding did sad things, but he didn't think they were a lost cause. He flicked his eyes over the others, and saw that they all understood easily. He stretched back in his chair and nodded firmly. "Even if we took over the ministry, if Dumbledore was alive he could rally the Light's forces and be a threat. He is a powerful man and an even more powerful wizard. There are few others who could challenge us if he was gone. In his place, Professor McGonagall will take over. Now, Professor McGonagall is a strong woman, but she just doesn't have the influence Dumbledore does. It would take her years to get to that point. So, we take Dumbledore from them and the hardest part is over."

A scoff came from behind him, and Harry shot his eyes towards the door. Zabini straightened from the wall with a sardonic look. "Are you really such an idealist, Potter? You think the war will be won so easily? What a fool you are."

All sound in the room had frozen, and Harry was aware everyone was watching them. He fought the urge to tear out the boy's throat, knowing he could do very little to him while undercover. A student couldn't just come up missing, after all.

Harry forcibly calmed himself and raised an eyebrow. "You're brave, Zabini."

"Hardly. I'm just the only one willing to tell the truth. Do you think that being a vampire makes you all-powerful, Potter? Or is it that you think fucking the Dark Lord makes you influential? Having a group of teenagers to follow your beck and call? You're nothing but a murderous twat playing at being Dark Lord, so far as I'm concerned."

Harry heard a few gasps and raised himself from his seat fluidly, stalking towards the black boy. "Would you like to sample how murderous I can be? Because you are very close to tasting it first-hand."

"What will you do? Cruciate me? Dumbledore would know in moments that you had used a dark curse in the school."

Harry seethed, knowing the boy was right; every spell that sprung to his mind would set off the wards. He began unbuttoning his robes, not stopping in his slow approach. Soon enough he was able to reach his dagger, secured to his thigh as it had been for the last four years without fail. He never got dressed without adding it. He pulled it free and spun it threateningly, seeing a flicker of fear in Zabini's eyes. "Ah, but who said anything about a spell?"

He heard a few choked protests as he darted forward, pinning Zabini to the wall by his neck. The hand with the dagger pressed into the teen's clothed clavicle, face inches away. "I allow a lot of leeway within these walls; I allow those present to address me as they wish, to interrupt me, to question my decisions. Do you think the Dark Lord would let you do that? No. Voldemort would torture you until you bled from your ears if you dared to even speak out of turn. I believe I have been terribly lenient with you all."

Harry's eyes flicked back to the frozen group, fangs bared. "But if you think I will allow a transgression of this proportion, you are sadly mistaken. Power does not hold that high of a stake to me, and I couldn't honestly care less how you see me. All that I care about is that you follow my commands, and that you show some modicum of respect to me. We all have the same goal, and I intend to use you all to help me meet it. Beyond that, you can deal with Voldemort."

Harry pressed the blade hard into the boy, the faint tang of blood in the air telling him he had met skin. His eyes once again met the dark ones of Zabini. "But so long as you are in this room, you will show me respect. When you become a Death Eater and stand before Voldemort and me, you will bow in deference. The Dark Lord will not allow you to pick and choose when to be respectful. I haven't a clue what you've got against me, but make no mistake that you will not live long if you don't learn to hold your tongue."

Harry loosened his hold and was abruptly pushed away, black eyes staring into him. "I'll never impugn my honor by allying with you, Potter. If that means I will not be a Death Eater, so be it. Consider me your enemy."

Blaise spun on his heel and marched towards the door, leaving Harry fuming in place. The door slammed shut after the black boy without any movement in the room. Harry snarled silently, staring at the closed door. How _dare_ that impertinent brat? He hadn't realized how used to being in power he had become until the boy had stood against him so brazenly. Zabini was like a damned Gryffindor in his brave foolishness, and something in Harry tipped its hat to him. The rest of Harry, however, continued raging.

"Harry?"

The voice reached him barely, and he cut his eyes from the door to peer back at the frozen students, who were all standing for one reason or another, unaware of the intimidating picture he made. Hermione stood in the front of the group, trembling but assured in all her Gryffindor glory. "Harry, you need to calm down. You're disrupting the room."

And he was. The room seemed to flicker between the cool, comfortable setting they had created and a blank abyss; Harry assumed that to be the natural state of the room, though it could just as easily be a product of his anger. He breathed deeply in an attempt to control his wayward magic, concentrating on pulling it within him.

His eyes never left the group of students, whom he now understood to be standing because the furniture was not staying corporeal. His voice was dark when he spoke, a growl overlaying his tones. "I want to know what that little shit's problem is, and I want to know now. I understand some of you are his friends, and I don't particularly want to kill him. But if I find no good reason for that pillock's attitude, I will slaughter him the moment I am free of the pretensions of being Harry Potter."

Draco turned away from him, looking over his housemates. Harry was glad he was taking a role in this, because his temper was stretched thin. He needed to accost Dante and force a long training session out of him to calm his nerves, or else run to Riddle Manor and have a few hours of angry sex with the Dark Lord.

The latter option sounded the most appealing, but there was work to be done.

"He hasn't told anyone his problems with you, milord," Draco said softly, and Harry wanted to laugh at how the blond sounded like he was soothing a wild animal. "He has never been exceptionally close to any of us, as he plans to take the path of his great grandfather and actually become a necromancer someday. The only person I could see him confiding in would be his mother, but Zinnia Zabini wouldn't speak to you if her son won't. Mother has tea with her on Thursday afternoons, but I hardly think they would discuss anything as serious…"

"I'll just go and see your mother then. Thank you, Little Pretty."

Draco's features tensed. "Do you think that is wise…?"

Harry lifted his lip in something meant to be a smile, but came off as a feral smirk. "I would not harm your family, Draco. I've become quite fond of them after Christmas."

He expected one of Draco's usual quips about his being _too_ fond of them, but the boy only nodded hesitantly. "Alright."

Harry glanced over the group one more time and met Hermione's eyes. "Please finish up the information on Dumbledore. I want to have it to Voldemort as soon as possible. Dumbledore was questioning me too much for comfort. This information needs to get out to distract him as soon as possible."

Hermione nodded, chin up. "Of course, Harry. You can count on me."

And Harry left.

* * *

"I need to see your mistress."

The house elf quivered in place, shaking its head and causing its overlarge ears to flop about. "Makie is being sorry, sir, but Makie's lady is not being taking callers at this time of the night…"

Harry resisted the urge to snarl at the elf, knowing it would only serve to make it blubber and take even longer to get his way. "I need to see Narcissa right now. It is quite important, and I assure you she will wish to see me. Don't you remember me from a few weeks ago? I helped your mistress plan for the holiday ball."

The elf fidgeted and wrung its hands. "Regardless, sir, Makie cannot be fetching her mistress this late. Makie would surely be given clothing for it…"

"Narcissa!" he boomed, deciding to ignore the elf altogether. It squeaked and began to cry, but he ignored it. He knew better than to push past the thing, but he cast a _Sonorus_ on his throat and called again. "Narcissa!"

He waited for what felt like ages, but with the expansive size of the manor he knew it was likely jus the trek necessary to get to the front door. When Narcissa finally glided around the corner, he was rather surprised to see her in a long white dressing gown, but her blank irritation faded to a small smile when she set eyes on him. "Harry? What foolishness is this?"

Harry quickly cast a _Quietus _and smiled. "I'm sorry, my dear, but your House elf was obeying your orders and wouldn't go to get you."

Narcissa glared at the sobbing creature, before waving her had. "Well, come in, already! You'll catch your death standing in the doorway all night."

Harry slid past the jabbering mass of elf and bowed over Narcissa's hand, kissing her wrist. "I do apologize for my unexpected visit, but my situation demanded I come immediately. I hope you don't mind?"

"For you? I suppose I won't bother cursing you. If it was anyone else who interrupted my nightly routine, however…"

Harry took her proffered arm, letting her lead him to one of the parlors. He had stopped in a nearby town to feed and then taken a run across the Malfoy grounds, so his mood was much more stable than it had been an hour ago. He still felt the tension beneath the surface, though, a thin veneer of his usual overdone charm holding it back. Zabini was a complication he didn't need this late in the game.

"So, what brings you barging in here as I was about to take my bath, Harry? I assume it is of some importance?"

A sly grin crept over his lips. "Oh, don't let me stop you, Narcissa. Really…"

"Do shut up."

"Fine, fine. You are correct." He sank down into a soft chair, eyeing Narcissa as she took a seat across from him. "I've had a problem at Hogwarts, and Draco mentioned that you might be able to help me."

"Hmm…" she snapped her fingers primly and ordered tea from the house elf that appeared before turning back to him. "And what would that be?"

"You are friends with Zinnia Zabini?"

The question seemed to startle Narcissa, as she tilted her head at him. "Well, I suppose you could say that. We have tea together once a week, but I hardly trust her, and it is mutual. Friendship isn't the same for Slytherins as it is for you Gryffindors."

"How do you figure?"

"You are so trusting, Harry. And for those we become close to, Slytherins can be much the same. But in high society, one cannot afford to trust others on a whim. Families are always looking for gossip against others, something to make them look better than the others. Influential wives meet often, but it is usually more like a veiled session of oneupsmanship than actual friendship. Who has the most money, who has the better home and the most obedient elves... these are the things that comprise the 'friendships' we most often have."

"That's... sad."

She laughed and lifted the teapot, pouring them each a cup. "I suppose it is, but it is what we have all grown up with. Purebloods have worked this way for centuries, and it isn't likely to stop. So no, Zinnia is not my friend, but I know her well enough."

Harry tapped his fingers on his thigh. "Well, you speak to her at least. I need to find out why, exactly, her son seems to be begging for me to kill him."

The tea very nearly sloshed out of the cup Narcissa was handing him, but years of training as the perfect Lady let her balance it. "Is that so?"

"Yes. He defied me rather spectacularly, insulting me all the while. If Tom got wind of it, the boy _and_ his mother would already be dead."

Narcissa grimaced visibly and sipped her tea, blue eyes trained blankly on the cup. "Well… as I said, we certainly don't trust one another. I doubt I can get the information you need."

"I could speak to her myself, if you think it wise," he said shortly, feeling his irritation rising as he thought of the situation again. "Would she be candid to save her son, do you think?"

"Perhaps."

"Would you firecall her, then?"

Narcissa sipped her tea again, looking at him over the rim of the cup. "You are quite lucky that I like you a substantially more than her, you know. I might take offense, otherwise, to being used."

"I could never use you, Narcissa," he said honestly, sighing. "I am just very stressed out right now. Dumbledore has been questioning me, and being stuck with the company of a bunch of teens wears on my patience."

"Hmm…" Narcissa took out her wand and flicked her wrist, and Harry smiled to see she had summoned a decanter of pumpkin wine, emptying her teacup of her hardly sipped tea and filling it with the alcohol. "I require a boon for doing this."

Harry eyed her warily and inclined his head. "And that would be?"

She took a long swallow of her drink and grinned. "I want to know exactly what's going on with you and the Dark Lord."

Harry cringed, having expected this. He had put her off repeatedly over the Yule hols, escaping her sly questions. But he needed this meeting with the Missus Zabini, so he sighed and nodded. "You realize if Tom gets wind of this, he'll kill us both just for talking about him, hmm?"

"Well, we just won't tell him then! Now get talking, Potter, because I know I've missed a lot."

"Fine…" Harry sat back in his chair and did a spell to turn his tea to firewhiskey. He needed the alcohol for this. "We have a strange friendship. We argue every other day, we cast Dark spells at one another when we get annoyed, we draw blood and fight like children for no apparent reason. But since September, we also talk more than I've ever talked with another person in my life. We've had conversations that lasted hours over the stupidest things, and I've never felt more challenged by any other human. He tests the limits of my control, my temper, my intelligence."

Narcissa was smiling, and Harry avoided her eyes. "Go on. I want the good stuff."

Another sigh. "I don't know how it happened, Merlin knows I didn't want it, but…"

"But…?" she was sitting forward now, eyes gleaming. The alcohol was already effecting her, giving her the mischievous demeanor he knew her best for.

"I fell in love with him."

She leaned back with a satisfied sigh, taking another drink.

Harry's guts were twisted painfully; he hadn't said it out loud before, and it felt strange to do so. More real somehow. He looked down into his drink and tipped his head. "Even before he regained his rather more aesthetic appearance, I fell in love with the man he was. No matter than he killed my parents or made my life hell, I was enamored with his mind and the intelligence and passion he possessed. He's fucking nutters, but he's _brilliant_. There is just something about him that has drawn me from the beginning… and then when he regained his ability to look handsome, lust was added onto emotion and… well… things went from there."

"It's all so romantic…"

Harry snorted. "Not really. We still fight like kneazles and crups, and sex is something of a competition. Tom is… consuming. He makes me forget who I am, what I am, what my purpose is. It is like he's destroying me from the inside out, but I'm loving every minute of it. And in those rare moments where he becomes something more than the Dark Lord, something in his eyes…" Harry gritted his teeth and looked away. "That's enough, Cissy. I don't want to talk about it anymore."

The woman sighed, but nodded nonetheless. "It was more than I expected. Thank you, Harry. You know I would have done this regardless."

"I know. But you've been good to me, so who am I to deny you?"

Narcissa smiled more widely than he had ever seen her smile, her teeth showing and her eyes crinkling at the corners. Harry wondered if it was an effect of the alcohol or her own amusement, but she patted his knee and stood before he could think on it. "I'll go get Zinnia over here now. Just wait here."

"Alright."

Harry felt blank as he waited, eyes far-off. He had to stop himself several times from playing with a section of hair, not wanting to have Zabini and Narcissa arrive to see him braiding it. It was bad enough that Tom had caught him at it several times; it would be hell on his reputation if he let anyone else see it.

His affection for Tom scared him. Just months ago he had been denying that he even knew what love was, and now here he was so hopelessly fallen that he doubted he would ever find his way out. How did he know it was love? How could he possibly judge an emotion so grand? He had no experience with it beyond platonic, but something in his heart screamed that it was a surety, that there was no doubt. He _loved_ the man, the terrible, cruel, homicidal maniac with the mind of a genius and the passion of a tempest. He was so bloody hopeless.

Harry was still chuckling at himself when Narcissa returned, a hard-eyed Zinnia Zabini behind her. The woman looked far from pleased to be there. She was beautiful, as the stories said, with long hair in twists and adorned with the faintest magical glitter. Her eyes, even more exotic and captivating than her son's, set on him and she halted, gasping.

When the surprise narrowed to a glare, Harry wasn't surprised. Whatever it was about him that effected Blaise obviously effected her as well, and her forward progress was much more stiff. She chose a seat as far from Harry as possible, hard eyes trained somewhere to his left.

Harry nodded to Narcissa with a half smile before turning to the dark-skinned woman and frowning, watching her. "Ms. Zabini, I wish we could have met under more pleasant circumstances."

She hissed under her breath and finally met his eyes. "What is it you want with me?

"Mostly I simply wish to know of your son's, and now your own, reaction towards me. So far as I know, I have done nothing to deserve it, but if I had it would be best for me to know."

Her face settled into a blank mask, alluring eyes searching his face. "Narcissa said my son was in danger."

"And he is. He openly challenged me and was very derogatory. Even if I wasn't enraged enough to kill him, if the Dark Lord got wind of it he would surely do it in my place. If I am to spare him, I want to know why he would be so hostile."

"Why would my son have spoken to you?"

Harry inclined his head. "He had an interest in becoming a Death Eater."

"You are Mylläkkä, are you not?" she snorted. "A silly name for a silly boy."

Harry gritted his teeth and cursed Valerian mentally, scowling dangerously. "I would thank you to keep your commentary to yourself. My choice of name has reasons behind it in which you are not aware. You are as impetuous as your son and it is not doing well for your lifespan."

Cool, black eyes settled green and the woman tilted her head back as she spoke, a faint accent coming through as she spoke. "You are a killer. I am a Dark witch, and that holds little meaning to me. But you are a killer of more than just those opposed to you. Tell me why you killed my nephew, and I might be more amenable."

"What? I am quite sure I do not know who your nephew is."

Zinnia was looking to his left again, and he saw something sad in her eyes. "He was only eight years old. What manner of monster are you? He was a squib, how could he have deserved death? And where is my sister-heart? She would have told me, I know, if you had left her alive."

Harry was well and truly confused, and raised an eyebrow. "You are rambling, and I still am no closer to understanding just what you are on about. I assure you that I do not kill children."

The blank mask shattered as she glared. "You are a liar _Mylläkkä_. Your name is more fitting than I thought. You prance about as if you are something to be watched, something to be feared, but you are little more than a misstep in time. Kalfu's wrath upon you, boy, for the sins you have committed."

Harry's mind jolted, and suddenly everything clicked into place. A boy, brittlely thin with over-aged dark eyes that shone amber. "'_Are you a spirit sent from the moon, then? A child of Mawu_?'" Harry murmured, meeting the similar dark eyes of Zinnia.

She jolted and stared, the mocking glint to her eyes fading. "What did you say?"

"'_Please Angel. I wish to go to the moon. Mother loved the moon._' That was what he told me. He had killed her, you know. He was so… old. His eyes haunted me for weeks."

"Wh--" Zinnia was shaking. "He wouldn't have, you lie again!"

Harry glanced to his side, where her eyes were trained. "He was a werewolf. Did you know that? He had been infected somehow, and killed his mother. He was alone when I found him and her body was beside him."

A long silence, punctuated by the erratic beating of the woman's heart. "What did he call you?" she breathed, still not looking at him.

"Angel. He called me angel." Harry jolted as he said it, a faint second memory appearing. _'Borrowed time, Angel.' _Ghosts of remembered pain danced over his skin, and Harry wished he understood that memory. But this was not the time for trying to decipher it.

Zinnia Zabini stood slowly, her robes swaying faintly with her trembling. "Spare my son, and accept my apologies. I must go. My son will trouble you no more."

Harry pitied the woman as he saw tears filling her eyes, even as she briskly exited the room. Harry turned to Narcissa and sighed, giving her a wan smile. "The old adage comes to mind 'Be careful what you wish for.' I wanted answers, she wanted explanation. Somehow, I think neither of us are satisfied."

The blonde smiled pityingly, and Harry had to look away. At least now he knew, and there was nothing to be done for it. He only hoped Blaise didn't do anything more to cause him problems, because now he wondered if he would feel guilt in killing him. It was a foreign concept these days, but something in his gut told him he would.

Silence reigned.

So that child he had killed had been Zinnia's nephew, Blaise's cousin. With their Necromantic blood, it was no surprise that they had taken offense. Even without undergoing the training necessary, those with the blood could see those killed by a person. Some victims were content to let themselves fade away and find peace, but others could linger for months or years at their killer's side, watching and waiting for their own vindication.

But why did the boy follow him? He had wanted to die, had asked for it. Did he hold a grudge for some reason?

Harry wished he understood, and as he stood and thanked Narcissa once more before making his way back to the front door, he knew his questions probably wouldn't have a straightforward answer.

* * *

Though few could even begin to guess at why, many noticed the dark expression that seemed to take over Harry Potter's face at breakfast. For the few who possessed a bit of creature blood and were magically sensitive, the black rage was nearly pain inducing.

And in the weeks to come, Gryffindors would think back to this moment and swear that Harry Potter's eyes had been inhumanly bright and his pupils slitted. In hindsight, of course.

All because of a simple note sent by innocuous owl post.

_'Dumbledore is on to you; he is searching for a spell to reign you in - by force, I must assume, as he was researching compulsions and mind control. I hope you have contingencies, and whatever plans are in the works can be moved forward. He is not a man to sit much longer on this problem if he truly thinks he will lose you._

_-An ally'_

* * *

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the wait, but this is two chapters in one (the longest yet!). The next chapter will probably take me a bit, as well, and be extra long, too… because this chapter and the next one are probably the **most important in the story**. If I don't remember everything, I'll totally screw up the plot. So I've been very, very careful with it, and made sure I put in everything needed. I don't want a bunch of dangling plot threads (-cough-deathly hallows-cough-).

Revised: 3/21/09 (This was another chapter that I had rewritten bits of an lost. I still did some editing, including adding some to the Zinnia scene to explain two parts people were confused by.)


	33. Zugzwang

Disclaimer: I does not own. I does not want to. Would be shite if I owned. XD

This chapter is dedicated to the lovely, wonderful members of the **S.S. Sssssss**. They really are the reason this chapter was finished, by boosting my pea-sized ego to the size of a walnut and making me feel like a celebrity. I'm proud to be a member. :)

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

**I hope this doesn't disappoint you all. It might not be what you expected.**

Super, **super** long chapter (10k! That's GINORMOUS for me!) as an apology for my writer's block. Also a **warning** for lime-ish citrus. It is sex, but not overly explicit; sensation is more described than actions. You should be able to tell which scene it is and skim accordingly.

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Zugzwang // a chess situation in which a player is forced into making a disadvantageous move_

* * *

The meal had been a terribly ordinary affair, and when he would look back on it weeks later, Harry thought that should have been his first clue that something huge would go wrong. After all, how often did things stay 'normal' and 'ordinary' for Harry Potter?

Somewhere out there, fate once again laughed at his expense.

_"Paeniteo exsulo!"_

_"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

But he was getting ahead of himself.

* * *

Harry growled under his breath as he stormed away from the Great Hall, anonymous message clenched in his fist. Hermione followed apprehensively, eyes darting around them. It wasn't long before a hand on his arm yanked Harry into the shadows, and the brunette cast a _Muffilatio_ around them.

"Harry, what is it?"

He stuck the letter out, seething. "I hope you managed to finish the scroll last night, because I need to send it to Voldemort _now_."

Hermione read the letter over and paled, hands shaking slightly. "Harry… Harry is this the best path? Are you sure about this?"

"What the hell are you on about? Cold feet _now_, Hermione? You've been fine with this…"

"Yes, well," her voice was indignant and Harry fought the urge to smile despite the situation, "It's all been setting in still, you know. I mean… Harry, is this right? Death Eaters and killing and plotting against Dumbledore… I'm scared for you."

"I'll be fine. This is the life I chose, and I will see it through. It will get better."

Hermione sighed and nodded, leaning back against the stone wall and staring hard at him. "I'm with you, Harry, if this is what you really want. I just need to be sure you know what you've gotten yourself into."

"You'd be surprised how aware of that I am, actually."

He made to leave the alcove, but Hermione gripped his robe at the elbow. He turned eyes, less furious then before but still somewhat glowing, towards the girl he had known for so long. She wouldn't meet his gaze. "Harry… what about Ron? He's… he's really upset…"

Harry sighed and turned back to her. "I know he is… but it is the way it has to go. I didn't expect to have any of you stay by me through all this; I had been ready to let you all go. This is war. I can't let childhood friendships be an obstacle to my success. I just want this war over with so I can fade into obscurity and be done with it."

"You're willing to just let him go?" she said softly, still not looking at him. Her bushy curls obscured most of her face. Her voice wasn't accusatory, but Harry felt the underlying allegation nonetheless.

"I love you both, you know. I did then and I still do. I find it funny that so many assume I could dismiss you all out of hand. It might have been some time ago, but when you spend your life alone, the first bonds you forge tend to sink rather deep. If I was given a choice to keep you both beside me, I would take it even with all the extenuating circumstances... even if our friendship can never be the same, even if I can't interact on the same level with you anymore. But in this, the choice is Ron's… and yours. I won't force you, Hermione."

Finally warm brown eyes rose up, wet but steely. She smiled tremulously. "I'm with you, Harry. I told you that. I just… I wish this could be different."

For the first time since his return to the time period, Harry yanked at her arm and brought his arms around her. He had comforted her only a few days prior, but this was a real hug, one that had him wrapping his arms around her shoulders and resisting the urge to squeeze. Moments like this he was reminded of his own humanity and wanted nothing more than to bask in it, knowing he still had the capacity. "Sometimes I do too, you know. But we'll make it work, huh?"

And he swore to himself he would.

* * *

As they entered the Potions classroom, Harry made his way to his usual seat with Hermione right behind him. He was waylaid, however, by a cocky call of his name, drawing his eyes to the imperious Draco. He sighed and waved Hermione on before trekking across the classroom to the Slytherin side, where he was unceremoniously dragged down into a seat.

"So, Potter, having a good day so far?"

The question was seemingly innocuous, but Harry could see the anxiety in Draco's eyes. Perhaps he had been a bit more angry at breakfast than he'd realized. "Just fine, Malfoy. And you…?"

Draco smirked, but Harry could see him peering around the room through blond lashes. Seeing that too much of the room's attention was on their interaction, Draco stretched his arms and spread them over the back of the seats on either side of him. He glanced at Harry, face still fixed in superior amusement. His voice was low enough not to be overheard by a casual observer, but he remained cryptic anyway. "Ah, had a few hiccups in my plans this morning, but otherwise I'm just fine. I'm a bit concerned for a friend of mine; he received a letter from his mother and has been a bit despondent since then. Have any idea what I could do for him? Emotional rubbish is Gryffindor territory, right?"

"Hmm," Harry said thoughtfully, stealing a glance at the very back of the room where Blaise Zabini sat quietly, eyes focused on his hands and a vacant expression on his face. "I imagine they might have had some sort of loss in the family and been blaming the wrong people. I am sure that once they assimilate their concerns, things will go more smoothly."

"Ah, that's a relief," Draco murmured before leaning closer. "Are you sure nothing's the matter?"

"If you want to know, why don't we go to the Slytherin dormitories after lunch? I think we can both afford to skive out on Defense."

Draco stared at him for along moment, silvery eyes narrowed, before nodding decisively and stretching back. "Alright, then. You sure you wouldn't rather go to another room…?"

Harry snickered and smirked. "Well, seeing as Dumbledore is under the impression that we have some kind of torrid affair going on, I think I'd like to see your rooms."

The reaction was instantaneous, a pale pink tinge starting on Draco's neck and creeping up to his face. "What?" Harry couldn't hold back a laugh as Draco's voice came out in a squawk. "Why in the seven hells does everyone think I'm gay? Morgana's tits, man, I like _girls_!"

Harry put his head onto the workbench as he tried to stifle his laughter.

"Come on, now! Is there just something about me that screams 'homosexual'? I am the picture of masculinity!"

"As comforting as that is to know, Mister Malfoy," a voice suddenly interrupted, and Harry swallowed his laughter to meet the blank face of their professor. "I believe this is not the place to be extolling your virtues."

There were a few snickers from the surprised Gryffindors, and Severus Snape rounded on them. "All of you will open your books to page four hundred and seventy-four. Today we will be looking at the evolution of…"

Harry tuned out Snape, propping his head on his hand and closing his eyes. Within the next few hours he had much to do, too much, and he sighed as he realized just how much. Between all the planning and setting up for Dumbledore's information to be revealed, he wouldn't be able to get away to see Tom for days. It rankled him, as usual, to know how dependent he had become on the man's company, but he noticed the feeling was much less pronounced than it had been in the past.

Love did strange things. Harry wasn't sure how much of a good thing that was.

He needed to contact Tom first off, let him know to go ahead and send someone with the information to Rita Skeeter. Giving her the first dibs on the information guaranteed it would be slanted how they wanted and give fuel to the fire once the other agencies across Britain and the continent got a hold of it. Once he'd given Tom the go-ahead and relayed the warning he'd been given, Harry needed to meet with those inside the school. He had a feeling things would be coming to a head sooner rather than later, and he wanted them to be aware of what should be done in the event something went wrong.

But that would have to happen over the course of a few days, because if Dumbledore was actually suspicious enough to make a move, it would do no good for a couple dozen students to go missing at once for a meeting. He'd have to pull aside a few people at a time and make sure to hash out the details.

He needed to speak with Dante and Severus as well. He would leave it up to them what they would do, as no options seemed better than the other in his mind. Letting them stay if he was ousted afforded them information from what would be behind enemy lines, but there was more of a chance of them being found out if they stayed.

"Potter!"

Harry yanked himself from his plans, narrowing his eyes at the contemptuous look on Snape's face. "Yes, sir?"

Only Harry would have noticed the subtle twitch of Snape's lips at the honorific. "If it isn't too much trouble for your dismally small brain, Mister Potter, you would do well to pay attention to the lesson."

Harry heard a few aborted giggles behind him and wondered how confusing it must be for the Slytherins. On one hand, it was a habit learned of years in Potions class to laugh at Harry Potter's misfortune, but on the other… Harry Potter was their new lord. Harry almost felt badly for them.

Harry raised an eyebrow and got the barest nod in return, a sign of equanimity that had been becoming more common in the last weeks. Snape's manner had calmed significantly even in the weeks since Christmas, and Harry couldn't help but be thankful for it. He hadn't warmed up to Harry, by any means, but he was considerably more easy to get along with.

Snape continued with the lecture, and Harry finished planning in his head. The next days would be tiresome.

* * *

**The Faded Light of Albus Dumbledore**  
By: Rita Skeeter (1)

_Albus Dumbledore. Head Boy in the 1898-99 school year, Winner of the Barnabus Finkley Prize for exceptional Spell-Casting, Order of Merlin, First Class, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, as well as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Albus Dumbledore has been Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry since 1955, and a good many of us have learned under his tutelage. He has molded the youth of the Wizarding world for over fifty years, and Dumbledore has become one of the icons of our society._

_But as this reporter learned this week, not all is Light and beautiful in the past of Albus Dumbledore._

_There are shocks in store for any who believe the iconic wizard to have lead an unblemished life. I am speaking of much worse than a brother with a penchant for livestock, worse than his imprisoned father. Even beyond the questions surrounding the suspicious deaths of his mother and sister, there is one very black mark upon the beacon that is Albus Dumbledore._

_Albus Dumbledore was once the homosexual lover of Gellert Grindelwald, and was plotting to overthrow the Statute of Secrecy and subjugate Muggles._

_Now, dear reader, I beg you not to fret. This was a terribly long time ago, after all, and Dumbledore was but a disturbed child. But these things beg to question just how many other secrets the leader of the Light has hidden within his aged mind. How worthless his speeches towards furthering Muggle rights seem now, how murky his past might be._

_This makes a person wonder, reader. The champion against the Dark Arts once dabbled within them. The defeat of Grindelwald might well have been the actions of a jilted lover. The Headmaster of our childrens' school might well have played a nefarious role in the deaths of his mother and innocent sister. Can we trust this man with our children? Our future? _(for more details on the horrible truths of Dumbledore's past, see page two. For an interview with Bathilda Bagshot, aunt of Gellert Grindelwald, see page three. For a letter from Dumbledore to Grindelwald, see page four. For reactions, see page five)

* * *

"Well, my lord, this was one way to handle things."

Harry chuckled and shrugged a shoulder. "It has certainly caused a stir already. Any reports from Hufflepuff?"

Zacharias tapped a pencil against his cheek. "Right now, they feel betrayed. They don't know who to trust, but the Headmaster's refusal to speak out against the accusations is wearing them down. They don't know who to believe anymore."

"Possible converts?"

"Not many as of now. Once you're out in the open, though… expect some possibilities."

Harry nodded. That would have to do. "Any comments?"

Zacharias shifted a bit. "Hum, nothing much. I'm looking forward to seeing this play out, though. I'm sure I chose the winning side, and I'd like to be able to show my family that."

Harry smiled. "Not much longer now."

* * *

**The Leader, the Legend, the Liar: Albus Dumbledore**  
By: Betty Braithwaite

_Stripped away is the admired image of a benevolent ruler, brimming of wisdom. In its place is left a gap of lies and murky waters, waiting to pull the Wizarding world under._

_As a youth, a previously upstanding Albus Dumbledore took up with a young man named Gellert, whom we all know as one of the more fearsome Dark Lords of all time. Friends and reported as more, it was a friendship that pulled Albus down to that of a dictator in training, plans erupting for world domination "for the greater good". _(for more, see page 5)

* * *

When Blaise Zabini cornered him outside of Herbology that week, Harry's first instinct was to pull out his wand. But the dark eyes had lost their menacing tint, and the anger he saw there seemed self-pitying. "Potter, I would like to express my regrets for my atrocious attitude of last week. I was out of line to question your actions."

Harry raised an eyebrow, "So… you're sorry?"

"Didn't I just say that?" spat Blaise, an indignant twist of his lips forming before he seemed to force himself to relax.

Harry did pull out his wand now, examining it before meeting Zabini's eyes. "I will curse you the moment we get off the grounds, Zabini, I swear it. Your attitude is going to get you killed."

Blaise straightened and bowed jerkily at the waist, staying bent. "Please forgive me, and please allow me to join with you in the Dark sect. Having Necromantic blood is as much a curse as it is an asset, and I am able to see the forms of any deaths attached to a person. I… I am not used to seeing so many as you have around you, and to have seen my young cousin at your side… I lost my mind these last weeks, my lord. My mother…"

"Your mother what?" Harry paused and pushed his wand back up his sleeve, turning away. "I think you need to reevaluate what you want. I won't accept you as you are, and Voldemort would probably kill you. Decide what you really want, and then come see me, hmm?"

He peeked back in time to see Blaise slide down to his knees.

* * *

**Lies In New Light: Dumbledore's Dark Secrets Revealed**  
By: Trish Pettingale

_A sister locked away in a dark room, a mother dying tragically. Father imprisoned for dark acts upon Muggles, brothers estranged. A dark figure influencing them from the shadows. Such was the way of things in the Dumbledore family. What was the truth behind his dark family past? Was his sister ill or abused? His mother a tragic victim of a backfired spell or dead from guilt? Was Albus's delay in defeating the previous Dark Lord Grindelwald a matter of time, or a matter of lingering affection? _(For these questions and more, see page 8)

* * *

"Dead?"

Padma nodded and bit her lip, and Harry wanted to run when he saw tears building in her eyes. But guilt was encroaching on the edges of his awareness, eating at him for having let something like this be going on under his nose without working to find out more.

"Yes. My cousin is too young for Hogwarts and Dumbledore won't give her asylum, even though the Headmaster seemed okay with werewolves before. And… and somehow the Ministry found out about her and Auntie… and they came for her."

Harry cringed as the tears began to fall, awkwardly wrapping an arm around Padma's shoulders. "How did your mother get mixed up in it?"

"I don't know! I just know they were there to take my aunt into custody, something about registration for Werewolves… and I only know that one of the Aurors on the mission killed both Auntie and Mum. Or maybe more than one, I don't know. But my cousin… she's at home and without anyone. No one wants to watch a werewolf child. They're all so bigoted they can't even see straight! And… and still Dumbledore won't let her in the school! She's alone and who knows what happens to her when she's transformed?! I just…"

Harry was thankful that Draco entered the Room of Requirement then, raising a sculpted brow. "Great Salazar… have I interrupted some tacky Gryffindor bonding session?"

Padma snarled, and for one moment Harry wondered if she was a Lycanthrope too. But the sniffled again and keened lightly, and Harry turned away from his contemplation. "Draco, I need you to take Miss Patil down to Severus. Tell him she has a cousin who would do well with a monthly allotment of Wolfsbane, if he could spare it."

Draco gave an incredulous look and opened his mouth, but he shut it as Harry glared. "Oh, fine. Come on, Patil."

It took Harry several minutes to convince the girl to go with Draco, and once he did he put his head in his hands. He wasn't cut out to be a leader. He hadn't known anything that was going on under his nose… because he hadn't cared. There was a reason he didn't think much of power, and it all stemmed back to not wanting to be the responsible one. He hated this obligated feeling, and he hated even worse the knowledge that he should have done more.

Harry made his way to Dante's rooms, deciding he needed to train.

* * *

**Dumble Fumbles Childhood of Harry Potter**  
By: Rita Skeeter

_There is no question in this reporter's mind that Albus Dumbledore has taken a disturbing amount of interest in our young hero, Harry Potter, from the start of his life. But what kind of impact has that had on our savior? What kind of twisted ideals has the newly tarnished Headmaster had on the tragic boy hero?_

_As one of the few people alive who can really say they know the real Harry Potter, this reporter intends to look into just that. Is the Savior of the Wizarding World lost to us?_ (see page 2)

* * *

"The world is kind of a mess right now, Harry-who-isn't-Harry."

He grimaced. "Well, it will all be right in the end, won't it?"

Luna gave a distracted smile. "The Wrackspurts say that only the Joining of the Two can make certain of the world's temporary peace."

A jolt ran down Harry's spine, and he focused green eyes on Luna. "What was that?"

She hummed. "The Wrackspurts said…"

"No, I heard you, Luna. What do you mean, though?"

"Well, _I_ don't mean anything. It isn't me who is telling you, is it?" She tilted her head at the ceiling. "Although, technically, I suppose I am, aren't I? But it just isn't me saying it to begin with…"

Harry groaned and dropped his head into his hands. "Can you tell me what the Wrackspurts are, Luna?"

"Well… they're Wrackspurts, of course."

Harry groaned louder, deciding there was no use questioning Luna and wondering if Neville could get a better answer.

* * *

**Was the Death of Grindelwald a Lover's Spat?**  
by: Ember Blacksmith (2)

_  
Recent facts have come to light as the past of self proclaimed Leader of the Light, Albus Dumbledore, was actually friends (and maybe more) with the Dark Lord Grindelwald. After the death of his mother, Kendra, Dumbledore was left to care for his younger brother, Aberforth, and younger sister, Ariana. Their father had disappeared sometime in Dumbledore's first year on a mission to Transylvania, to deal with the vampire uprisings _(more information on page 5) _and their mother was left to care for the three of them alone. Throughout the years, Albus Dumbledore was able to achieve much. He helped Nicholas Flamel discover the 12 uses of Dragon's blood, and became renowned though the Wizarding world. But when Mrs. Dumbledore passed away, Albus Dumbledore returned to Godric's Hollow, and 'sacrificed' his future to take 'care' of his crumbling family. But how much care did he actually give them?_

_"He were a head case, that Aberforth," says Enid Smeek, whose family lived on the outskirts of Godric's Hollow at that time. "Ran wild. 'Course, with his mum and dad gone you'd have felt sorry for him, only he kept chucking goat dung at my head. I don't think Albus fussed about him, I never saw them together anyway."_

_So what was Albus Dumbledore really doing, if not comforting his wild young brother? The answer, it seems, is ensuring the continual imprisonment of his sister and the wild rendezvous with his lover, Gellert Grindelwald. Grindelwald was originally the fiancé of Ariana, but it seems Albus fell in love with Grindelwald and competed with his sister for his affections. Eventually Dumbledore won him over, but still felt threatened by his sister. As a caution, he imprisoned her in the mansion that was the Dumbledore estate._

_The poor conditions that Ariana Dumbledore was kept in caused her to contract Pneumonia, a muggle sickness that is usually not harmful to wizards _(more information on page 12)_, but with her weak immune system she quickly succumbed to the virus. Grindelwald found out about Dumbledore's actions not long after and was infuriated. Grindelwald then challenged Albus to a duel, where he ultimately met his death by a nasty cutting curse that beheaded him. Dumbledore was distraught with the death of his beloved, and had to be admitted to St. Mungos's Mental Care Ward where he seemed to fully recover after three years._

_But did he really? Is that infernal twinkle in his eye a sign of insanity? Is he really fit to teach our children, the future of our society? Is Albus Dumbledore manipulating us like a chessboard, for some notion or revenge or jealousy?_

* * *

The articles had come out of nowhere and seemed to roll in over the course of the week, and Albus Dumbledore didn't know what to do anymore. How they had gotten their information was a mystery, but Albus couldn't concentrate on that now. No, not when his favorite student was fading so quickly. Albus had caught hidden smirks over the exaggerated Daily Prophet articles, grins with far too much cheer for the oppressive air the castle had taken on.

He placed a hand over his chest and massaged slowly as he stared down at the latest batch of rumor and speculation. How had they known about Gellert? Bathilda might have been able to give them a lot of information on his younger years, but that was one thing no one had known. Not a soul had been aware of his torrid affair, his lapse in judgement. But ah, how his heart still ached over chances lost.

But that didn't matter. What mattered was securing the hope of the Light and bringing Harry Potter back from the darkened place he had fallen. That he could take pleasure in an old man's misery only spoke of how lost he whispers were escalating from every which way, and Albus knew he had to act now.

For the good of the Wizarding world.

* * *

Harry leaned against the doorway with a faint smile, watching Tom sleep. It wasn't even midnight yet, but Harry had no idea how long it had been since his lover had last slept. The lightly glowing wand held loosely in Tom's hand told Harry that sleep had not been coming easy, or else time hadn't allowed for rest. Either way, it had been serious enough for Tom to put himself into a forced sleep again.

He shrugged off his robes and laid them over the chair by the door, sitting on the edge of Tom's bed and watching the most feared wizard alive doze. His brow was slightly pinched despite the spell's ability to make one relax, and his head laid on his hand. Harry didn't try to resist the urge to push a bit of dark hair behind Tom's ear, fingers trailing down his neck and resting over Tom's chest. The steady beat of his heart went on under Harry's palm, and he wondered what it would be like to take that away.

In his teen years, his purpose in life had been to eradicate this man. Many nights he had wished for an opportunity like this, finding Voldemort unaware and unable to fight back, ending his existence and freeing himself from the terrible curse on his head. And now here he was, hand lightly over Tom's heart and feeling it beat in a slow rhythm, yet without any plans to kill him.

It always amazed him how far he had come in the last few months. From a shaky truce to… to… whatever it was that they had, the strange relationship that Harry doubted Tom would acknowledge the depth of. But Harry did, even if Tom was reluctant. This was something unlike anything he had imagined, this love, and he could finally understand why men fought and died for this emotion.

"Ngh, it's too early. Leave me alone."

Harry jolted and focused on Tom, who had shifted and dislodged his wand from his hand, breaking the spell. Harry sighed and carded his fingers once more through dark hair. "Shush now. Go back to sleep."

A bleary, crimson eye opened into a glare. "What are you doing?"

"Sitting here, obviously."

Tom scooted towards the other side of the bed with his eyes closed once more, lifting the blanket. "Either get in here and sleep or leave. I don't want you watching me."

Harry smiled but obeyed. He made quick work of his clothing and slid between the sheets, accepting it when Tom wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him near. Harry slept on his stomach, Tom with a cheek resting on his back. "That can't be comfortable, Tom."

"Don't care," Tom grumbled, voice slurring. "Just sleep already, loçkë. You're annoying."

Harry didn't feel tired, but he quieted down anyway. He spent quite some time just listening to Tom's breathing and relishing in the comfort after a long week.

* * *

Harry poked around the random parlor he had wandered into, fingers tracing over dusty furniture and taking in the out of date theme of the room. This seemed to be something Tom had never gotten around to renovating, leaving it as it was when his father had owned the house. A few magazines laid under the coffee table, most of them women's magazines from the early forties. Harry smirked at the title of an article: 'How To Be the Best Wife You Can Be!'

He had been helping with meetings all morning, seeing contacts with Tom and taking notes on the information given. He felt like a bloody secretary and would be disgruntled if Tom hadn't been taking notes as well. But after three hours of meetings, he was quite ready to take a break, and he had begged off with the excuse of needing the loo.

His eyes lit on the corner of the dusty room, and a small smile crept onto Harry's face. And old gramophone, a wind-up version that was so ancient that Harry wondered if it was still serviceable, was gathering dust on a low table, several 78s stacked at its side. Harry didn't resist the urge to flip through them, choosing one at random and fiddling with the player.

He didn't hear Tom enter the room as he tinkered, but once he got the record playing and spun around to continue his explorations, he saw the man leaning on the door frame with an eyebrow raised.

"Do you always feel the need to resurrect old muggle appliances, Potter?"

"Only when I'm bored."

"You were supposed to come right back."

Harry spun lightly as the song began to pick up, grinning as Tom rolled his eyes. "This is more fun. Dance with me, Tom!"

The amused exasperation faded to a glare. "I don't think so. I don't go in for such rubbish."

Harry danced forward, grin widening as Tom began to move backward. "Come on, Tom. Live a little."

"I don't dance, Potter."

Harry seized his lover's wrist and yanked him forward, arm going around his waist and pulling his body flush against him. "Then I'll lead. It doesn't take a genius to dance when there's no one watching."

Tom's scowl was furious, but Harry ignored it, pulling the feared Dark Lord in circles around the free space of the room. "This is foolish, Potter. Unhand me this instant before I curse your hands from your body."

Harry released Tom's hand and using his newly freed hand to tap the man's nose, regarding him with a critical eye. "Are you _embarrassed_?"

Tom growled. "As if I would ever…"

"Shut up, Tom," Harry grabbed up his hand again. "Just do what I do."

The music flowed through the room as Harry coaxed the man along, pulling him through a simplified dance. Slowly Harry felt the tension draining from taut shoulders, and slowly Tom began to move with Harry instead of jerking himself along. It was good that Tom didn't dance, because that kept him from realizing what a horrid dancer Harry was. He swayed a bit and leaned into Tom's slowly relaxing grip, pleased when the hand that had been sitting awkwardly on his hip slid around his waist.

"You're such a damn child, Potter."

Harry would have ignored the phrase no matter the tone, used to the derisive snips by now. But as it was, it had been said with a soft fondness that Tom usually only ever let slip when he was half asleep, and Harry pressed his face into Tom's neck to hide his smile. His grip around Tom's waist tightened, and Harry sighed against the soft skin of Tom's neck, letting his lips trail faintly across his lover's pulse. He felt the chill run through Tom and pressed closer, tongue darting out to lightly taste.

"Ugh, Potter… don't start anything that we don't have time to finish. In half an hour I have to call the Death Eaters."

Harry bit down, careful of his fangs but still nearly breaking skin. Tom cursed as Harry pressed his tongue over the spot more insistently. "You're the bloody Dark Lord, Tom. You don't _have_ to do anything. Make them wait. And stop calling me Potter, for Merlin's sake. It's annoying. Why not go back to the nice one you called me last night? What was it… I dunno, I'm shite at foreign languages."

Tom went rigid in his arms and tried to pull away. "Let me go now, Potter."

Damnit. "What in the hell did I do this time?" Harry tightened his grip. "Don't fucking run off again, Tom. I'm sick of you clamming up like this."

The glare he got in return was scalding, but Harry stayed resolute. Crimson bore into green, Harry could hear the escalated beating of Tom's heart surrounding him. He didn't understand why Tom always felt he had to run away, why he panicked like this at the oddest moments. Well… it wasn't panic like a normal person would panic, but for the emotionally inept Tom Riddle it was the closest translation.

And then Tom shut down, eyes shuttering and face blanking of all expression. Two hands wrapped around Harry's wrists and squeezed at the pressure points, making him relinquish his grip. "Do you wish to know, Potter?"

Harry forced himself not to cringe as Tom's thumbs pressed deeper into his wrist. And as Tom transformed into Voldemort in a fluid motion, Harry realized the mindset his lover was in. Their tempers were explosive and notorious, and no one was more aware of the dangers of their fury than themselves. Retreating entirely as Voldemort just had was a sure sign of smothered explosion.

"This isn't done, Tom."

Voldemort's face remained stoic and his brow arched. "On the contrary, Potter. I think you'll find it is."

Harry was left wondering just how far-reaching that statement was as Voldemort swept from the room, never even meeting his eyes.

* * *

Harry paced through the lines of Death Eaters, glaring at any who fidgeted in place. Anger had quickly overwhelmed defeat, and he was aching to take out his own fury on hapless followers. He shot a curse at a shorter Death Eater who sneezed, giving a dark grin when they screamed. Having a few bits of one's flesh peeled away in hair-thin strips was likely to be painful.

He reached the front and made his way toward another column, eyes purposefully ignoring Voldemort where he was sitting upon his throne. He had called his Death Eaters and left it at that, letting silence stretch over the room and attempting, Harry thought, to drive them all insane. So Harry had begun his inspection, throwing out nonfatal, painful hexes and curses at random Death Eaters that pissed him off by existing. It really made him understand why Voldemort Cruciated his followers so often; it was relaxing.

It was pure chance that Wormtail slunk into the room as he was running out of minions to terrorize. The balding man was, as usual, without any Death Eater regalia and was crouched low to the ground inside the door, bald head gleaming with nervous sweat. Harry took great pleasure in the first of what was likely to be many curses.

"_Crucio_."

Peter screamed and hit the floor, and Harry could feel the attentions of the others in the room turning towards them. Mylläkkä was known to rarely deal out the Unforgivables outside of battle, and for him to resort to it now promised a show.

Harry lifted the curse and flicked his wand, casting a nonverbal summoning on the lump of a man. Peter whimpered and curled into a ball at his feet, making Harry's sneer intensify. "Sniveling traitorous rat. Why do you continue to exist? You do no good to your lords, you have no purpose but as a target for curses in boredom. Didn't you ever wonder what would happen when you stopped being entertaining? _Crucio!_"

Peter screamed louder, the intensity of the curse made deeper as Harry's rage was funneled into it. True torture was not often his method, but he held no qualms against it beyond not thinking it inspired loyalty.

"Didn't you ever wonder, Peter, what would happen when your duplicitous fuckery caught up to you? Did you ever lie awake at night and see James and Lily at your bedside, ready to take their revenge?"

Peter gave a high pitched whine over the screams of the curse. "They would have understood!" Harry didn't have to wonder at the quick response or lack of wondering why 'Mylläkkä' would ask about James and Lily; he didn't think the Cruciatus left much time for logical thinking.

Harry jabbed his wand forward and broke the curse, leaning down and breathing over Peter's sweating face. "I cannot say whether they would have or not, Wormtail. But I know that I couldn't give a fuck less. And I am your executioner in their stead."

Harry stood and spun on his heel, facing the room full of black-clad Death Eaters. They had given up any pretences of not watching once it became apparent that Voldemort's sole attention was on the form of their other lord. He scanned over them, briefly glancing to Voldemort and seeing nothing more than a blank sort of intrigue. He sneered at the mass of Death Eaters and cocked his head. "I will make no pretence of hiding myself any longer. If you take issue with my identity, you can go fuck yourself and die by my wand or Voldemort's. I am Harry Potter, and if you have problem with that, give me one moment to address my pest."

Peter's face was twisted into a silent scream, but it seemed he was unable to force the sound from his throat. Harry smiled, a feral upturning of his lips.

"Yes, Peter. Didn't I say I would see you dead? You didn't think I would, did you? Thought ickle Harry Potter too good to sully his hands." Harry jerked his wand to the left, sending Peter careening across the stone floor to meet the wall with a sickening crunch. "Let me tell you something you might find interesting, Wormtail. I'm not a good person. I am possessive, depraved, violent, and without mercy. Do you see the fate you created for yourself?"

Harry fired a curse at Peter that had little obvious effect, but the slow tensing and harsh glaze to the traitor's eyes gave his pain away.

"Do you like that one, Peter? I found that in a book about Grindelwald. A favorite of his, it said. It grows your hair backwards and at super speeds, making it slowly choke you from the inside. Your arms, your legs, the paltry excuse for hair on your head… all turning to fill your body. It is a slow death, and disgusting to be sure. Whomever thought of it needed a shrink. But as we speak your hair is growing into your veins, blocking your lungs, growing toward your heart. Your skull will be worked through soon, and then your brain will go. It shouldn't take more than ten minutes."

Harry turned away from the retching noises Peter was beginning to make, eyeing the terrified group behind him. "Does anyone have any issue with who I am?"

Murmurs of 'No, my lord' filled the chamber, and Harry finally met crimson eyes. Voldemort's bored look had edged into amused, a smirk twitching the corner of his mouth. "Dramatic much, Potter?"

"Ah, you taught me well."

_//You might have told me you planned to give yourself away at this meeting.//_

_//I might have, but since you were being a royal prick, I thought this better. It made _me_ feel better at least.//_

Voldemort glared, but rather than argue he rolled his eyes and looked towards his Death Eaters, spidery fingers tapping on the arm of his throne. "Now that Mister Potter is done with tonight's entertainment, we shall get down to business. Tonight we raid Diagon Alley."

Harry strolled back to the front of the room after putting a silencing spell on Pettigrew's choking screams, blocking out the rat's final moments of life. There were few worse insults. "This attack will be a scare tactic. Torture and frighten, do not kill. Kill on your own time, but when you are making a statement with the Dark Sect, stay on the plan. We enter as a group, and once the Dark Mark has been thrown into the sky, we leave immediately. No prizes or trophies. In and out."

"Precisely," Voldemort said with a bit of scorn, but Harry easily ignored the slight. He couldn't care less if his partner was disgruntled to have his lordly monologue interrupted. "We must impart on the common witches and wizards that we are not afraid. They cannot think of shadow-skulking miscreants bent on torturing helpless Muggle filth. We will remind them why my name is never to be spoken. They have become too compliant and trusting."

Grunts of affirmation echoed in the chamber, and Voldemort rose from his throne. Harry pretended he wasn't admiring the Dark Lord's poise as he spread his arms. "Go."

* * *

Harry fired Stunners at a fleeing woman and her child, putting them out of danger of being damaged in the melee. He knew many of the Death Eaters held less morals than he did, and he couldn't justify harming a small child or a parent in front of a child. Screams echoed and Harry closed his eyes, a chill of excitement running down his spine.

"Do you think telling the masses of your identity was a good idea, my lord? It could get back to Dumbledore that way."

Harry opened his eyes and turned to Lucius, masked and robed and firing off curses in a bored manner. Harry shrugged. "It isn't like it would be believable if they tried to rat me out. And anyway, these games are coming to an end. My plans are nearly realized."

"Alright, my lord. I wish you luck, then."

Harry smiled and sashayed towards the blond, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Luck, hmm? I've missed seeing you these last weeks, Pretty. Things just aren't the same without your company."

Harry nearly laughed as Lucius turned up his nose. "I think you will survive."

"Perhaps…" Harry grinned and slid chest to chest with him. "But why should I have to without your presence?"

Lucius gave off a nervous air now. "My lord, I do not think this is the best idea…"

"And why not?"

"The Dark Lord would be terribly unhappy to know… we were not participating in battle."

Harry snorted. "Weren't you going to say that he is a jealous prat and you don't want to piss him off? Screw Tom, he's being an ass anyway, and he has no say over my actions."

"I'd rather stay out of your lover's quarrel." Lucius took a step back and fired a Cruciatus into the corralled masses. "I refuse to be your revenge. I would not like the repercussions."

Harry scowled in annoyance and aimed a Flaying curse at an angry man on the outskirts of the crowd. He screamed and Harry felt a bit better. "It has nothing to do with revenge. I am quite sure Tom would categorize our relationship as something less than important anyway, so what is there to revenge, really?"

Lucius shook his head as he fired another Cruciatus; the Death Eaters were all so unoriginal. "Keep me out of it, my lord."

Harry gritted his teeth and turned away, firing a succession of curses into the crowd. Death Eaters were inside the shops flushing people out, gathering them in the area just outside the Leaky Cauldron. It would have been a massacre had Voldemort allowed deaths.

Harry heard the screams of terror reach a fevered pitch, and he turned slightly to watch Voldemort stroll forwards. He wore robes of a rusty crimson, something like drying blood, with his hood thrown back to expose his favored guise of reptilian horror. Slitted nostrils flared as a grin spread its way across his face.

"Wizards and witches, take heart. You are not going to die today."

Sobs broke out and the terror only increased, and Harry shuddered as he realized he badly needed a meal. Voldemort raised a hand and locked eyes with him, flicking his fingers in a summoning gesture. Harry arched a brow but obeyed, strutting toward the front of the group and smiling placidly at the cowering mass.

As he reached Voldemort's side, his hand was seized and he was yanked forward to be flush against his lover, staring into his familiar eyes set in the grotesque visage. _//It has been too long since I have experienced the euphoric feeling of the masses trembling at my feet.//_ His hands slid down to grip Harry by the hips. _//When we get back to the manor…//_

Harry chuckled and shifted, grinning as Voldemort swallowed a groan. He knew he couldn't respond in Parseltongue, so he spoke in a murmur. "You are such a twisted bugger."

"That I am."

Harry felt his previous irritation drain away, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. Long fingers dug hard into his hips before he was released and turned to face the crowd with Voldemort at his left.

"You will all be spared this day, but I want you to remember this," Voldemort hissed. "You all might have died this day. The paltry wards over Diagon Alley are no match for me, and there is nothing stopping me from killing you all at any time. Remember and spread the word, peons. Lords Voldemort and Mylläkkä let you live this day."

Those people who were not frozen by the sight of Voldemort flicked their eyes to him, and he was suddenly aware that this was the first raid in which they had not killed all witnesses of him. He smirked widely and stood a bit taller, though he shot an amused glance to Voldemort at his side. "You are an overdramatic ponce, you know that?"

Voldemort chuckled loudly enough to be heard, and Harry's smirk widened to a grin as the panic spiked. Without anything more than a promising grin, Voldemort raised his wand to the sky. "Morsmordre!"

And they were gone, leaving the terrified denizens of Diagon Alley to sob their relief.

* * *

Skin to skin, fingers bruising his hips. Harry arched back from his perch atop Tom, groaning as Tom tightened his grip even more and pressed him farther down, eyes rolling back into his head. Bliss surrounded him, engulfed him. There was nothing else but these moments, joined in the most visceral way and with instincts driving their every move.

"Fuck, Tom…" Harry bit out, sweat tickling his neck.

Tom growled and Harry found himself chest to chest with his lover as Tom sat up, hands sliding from Harry's hips to curve around his backside and lift him. The angle was exceptional and Harry had to nearly swallow his tongue to avoid whimpering. The pace had slowed but time seemed to as well, foreheads pressed together and breath mingling. Tom's eyes burnt him, the color inconsequential in comparison to the intensity.

Harry leaned forward to bite the man's lip, a keen escaping his throat as the pleasure sought to drive him mad. He was gasping now, leaning into Tom and gripping the shortest of his dark hair, their lips brushing. Harry didn't care if it was all a dream anymore, he didn't care that Tom would never stop switching moods and denying his feelings. In the moment, the shocks of pleasure were enough, the emotions coalescing around them all he needed. Even if it was a lie, it was a beautiful one.

"You love this, don't you?" Tom murmured against his mouth, "You love it when I'm within you, you love it when I move your body and bring you pleasure. You never want this to end, do you loçkë?"

Harry nodded and let his head fall back, exhausted but unable to stop now. Fingers held his backside firmly and kept him in place, unable to move. He locked glowing eyes with desire-glossed crimson. "What the hell, Tom?"

"Say it. Say you love this."

Harry didn't hesitate. "I love this."

"Say you want this forever."

He released him and Harry groaned as the pace began again. "Oh Merlin, I want it forever. Don't fucking stop again, Tom."

On his back now, Tom hovering over him with Harry's legs around his neck. "Tell me more, Harry."

Harry's moan was nearly a scream this time, the combination of the angle and Tom saying his name so sensually combining. His cries because a stream of nonsense, a litany in Tom's ear. "I love this, I love this, I love this, I love _you_, don't fucking stop again or I'll kill you, I swear it!"

The force of his orgasm was blinding, making his back arch off the bed until he could see the sheets beneath him. The scent of blood reached him and he knew his nails had broken skin where they were clenched on Tom's shoulders, and he found himself diving forward to sink in his teeth around Tom's collarbone. Tom groaned and thrust hard, shuddering as his orgasm tore through him and Harry laved at the blood he had created.

It was long minutes before Harry pulled away, the location of the bite only giving him small amounts of blood, but enough to content him as he rode out the final contractions through his muscles. Tom had collapsed atop him, lean body heaving. Harry sighed and rolled sideways to dislodge his lover.

"Ngh, that was great."

Tom didn't respond, so Harry turned to meet his eyes. What he saw there confused him, even as Tom gave a forced smirk. "Of course it was. What else did you expect? Now, I need a nap."

Harry laid there staring as Tom turned onto his side, looking at the back of his head. What had he done wrong?

* * *

The meal had been a terribly ordinary affair, and when he would look back on it weeks later, Harry thought that should have been his first clue that something huge would go wrong. After all, how often did things stay 'normal' and 'ordinary' for Harry Potter?

Somewhere out there, fate once again laughed at his expense.

"You're a right prat Neville, y'know that?"

Neville snickered from Harry's right side, and Harry smiled as Ron continued groaning. He had used the time turner and returned to the afternoon, after Tom had forcedly ignored him for the remainder of the evening while pretending sleep. There wasn't anger or malice, but Harry knew that Tom was closing him out nonetheless. He didn't understand it.

Ron and Neville's teasing argument pulled him back from his confusion, and he laughed as Neville waved his fork. His humor had improved with his self-esteem, and it really made Harry feel a sense of pride as the boy acted without caring of others' opinions of him. And Ron had calmed down immeasurably, giving a sense of peace to Hermione and letting Harry relax.

Neville swallowed his food and gave Ron a wry look. "It isn't my fault she doesn't want to date you. You made an idiot out of yourself on your own."

"You didn't have to start laughing!"

"You told her that her breasts were bouncy! What did you expect, for her to jump into your arms?"

"Honestly, Ronald," Hermione said around a pencil, her plate pushed aside for a book, "Lavender? She's as vacuous as an air pocket. Don't you have any sense of taste? Even if you weren't utterly incompetent with women…"

Red was spreading from Ron's ears, across his cheeks and nose and creeping up his neck. Harry couldn't help a smothered laugh, and felt badly for his friend. Even he hadn't been that hopeless… though he couldn't fault Ron for managing to be infatuated with Lavender. She was a nice looking girl, despite her annoying tendencies. However, Harry knew with certainty that Ron and Hermione would end up together someday, some strange case of opposites attracting. He would be surprised if they both lived through the first year together, though.

Ron's wand was out suddenly, and his twitching scowl made Harry scoff and pick at another biscuit. There was nothing malicious about the redhead in the worst of times, and at the moment he just looked like a lost tomato. "Remember when I said I'd get that nickname spell from Fred and George? They owled it yesterday!"

Neville began laughing as Ron incanted the Nickname Jinx, diving behind Harry while clutching at his stomach. Harry pushed himself back to get out of the spell's line of fire, only to knock heads with Neville and lose his balance. As the spell collided with his shoulder, Harry felt the blood leave his face.

Where laughing had been moments before, dead silence resounded. Hermione gave a choked gasp from Harry's right, and Neville was groaning in sorrow. Others around him froze with forks halfway to their mouths, eyes wide and fixed overtop of Harry's messy hair.

The sound of silverware hitting the table and gasps of horror were slowly grabbing more attention, but Harry was just as frozen as his peers. What in the hell had just happened? He knew, honestly he did… but he didn't want to believe that things could go so wrong so easily, so quickly. He didn't want to think about being so close to his goal and having a stray prank jinx ruining months of work. He didn't want to think about the look in Ron's eyes, the shock and horror etched over his features and barely moving lips.

"It was s'posed to be a joke. Why isn't it being a joke? Why isn't this funny?" Ron muttered, a continuous commentary that was soon the only sound. Harry didn't have to move to know the entire Great Hall was frozen by now.

Because above his head, in cheerful orange letters with random fireworks busting around them, spelt out his doom. His secrets. His identity.

_Harry James Potter_

_Mylläkkä  
Pet  
Boy  
Freak  
Loçkë  
Potty  
Pup_

The list went on to include every name he's ever been given by people from his childhood, Malfoy and his cronies, teachers, friends, and adults around him. Most things it gave away were of little consequence, and he doubted anyone had made it past the second entry anyway.

Suddenly function roared back to him, and Harry pushed back from the table, not stopping to apologize as he bowled over Neville in his haste to stand. The groan of the bench seemed to snap the rest of the school out of it as well, and Harry fought a cringe as the screams began. He yanked out his Phoenix feather wand; it was far more attuned to him and therefore stronger than his Blackthorn one.

He raised it level just as Dumbledore drew his own, blue eyes narrowed and bearded jaw vibrating with tension. "Oh, Harry…"

Harry shook his head and forced on a smirk, burying his panic and pulling out his hard-tuned cocky attitude. "Don't start, old man."

"How did it come to this, dear boy? What could have happened to turn you to Voldemort? He killed your parents, he is the reason Sirius was killed…"

Harry snorted. "It is a bit late for this tripe, Dumbledore. I've made my choices. This Wizarding world will flounder under your guidance, and I refuse to see you manipulate people any farther. Voldemort is an ass, but at least he has the right ideas and has the ability to compromise." Harry flicked his wand slightly and felt calm drift over him as he smirked more easily. "But don't think I'm about to start spilling master plans and monologuing. I'm a more fit kind of villain."

Dumbledore thrust his body forward over the staff table, wand hacking left to right as he bellowed, _"Paeniteo exsulo!" (3)_

Harry knew if he dodged he would lose his chance, and planning wasn't really his forte anyway. With all his unquenchable Gryffindor abandon, he braced one foot back and lifted his chin. _"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

As the bluish spell Dumbledore had cast struck Harry in the chest, his last sight was of Dumbledore summoning a plate to protect him. But he had no time to curse as blackness overtook him.

* * *

(1): This is largely paraphrased and adapted from pgs. 22-27 and 353-359 of Deathly Hallows. I have photocopied, highlighted papers I'm working from here. Booyah.

(2): Credit for this article goes to Secret13. Thank you for responding to my plea!

I'd also like to put in that most of the article titles were courtesy of Tsurai no Shi. She is my goddess and inspiration as usual.

(3): _Paeniteo exsulo _is something like 'Be exiled to repent' except without grammar… if Ammene is still around (or anyone else with better knowledge than a English à Latin dictionary) and wants to help make this not crappy… I'd love that. Something simple to imply the same meaning would be great.

This chapter should get us to 2,000 reviews. I can never express my gratitude and how touched I am. You all are the reason I've not given up in frustration.


	34. Oneirataxia

Disclaimer: I does not own. I does not want to. Would be shite if I owned. XD

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

Italics are… not necessarily noted by Harry. Some he does, others he tries to ignore or he blocks them out. It generally says if he isn't ignoring the thought.

This shouldn't be excessively confusing, but you aren't supposed to get everything. Don't worry.

**Into the rabbit hole we go!** Expect the unexpected, and know that this isn't, like, some odd change in plot. The HPLV will be back pronto!

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Oneirataxia // inability to distinguish between fantasy and reality_

* * *

Harry groaned as he awoke, peering blearily at the empty corridor. What in the hell had just happened? Something about this place didn't feel right; something was _off_ about it. He rose into a crouch, slowly backing himself against the stone wall. He was rather sure he was somewhere in the dungeons, judging by the low ceilings, but he had been in enough of the lesser used halls of Hogwarts to know not to discount his current position as being anywhere in the school.

How had he gotten there? His mind was blank for the last hours -- suspiciously so. He last remembered reading over one of the latest blasts at Dumbledore, hiding his face in Hermione's shoulder as he snickered helplessly. He also recalled leaving the grounds to see Tom, but nothing beyond that. But he was in Hogwarts now, that was sure. The aura of magic was unmistakable, even if the pounding of his head made the feeling dull.

He clenched his fists at his sides, straining to hear any signs of life. There was nothing. This was rather rare, as his senses usually allowed him to distinguish the heartbeats all around him if he so chose. With hundreds of students in Hogwarts, there was hardly ever a time that he couldn't sense people near him. He was either deep in the bowels of the castle or… He attempted to cast out his aura when a harsh tug stopped him, painful and choking. His fingers flew up to his mouth to verify what the sinking feeling in his gut had already foretold.

He was human.

Harry jerked his hand away as if it was burned, green eyes round. Harry slid up the wall and clenched his hands against the rough stone of the wall. Human. He was human. How could this be? Harry felt as if he couldn't breathe; the loss of the senses he had become to accustomed to over the years feeling like the loss of a limb. His breathing sped up, the throbbing in his head reaching a painful crescendo.

All at once memories assaulted him, memories Harry knew weren't his.

_His sixth birthday-- getting his first broom as a beautiful redhead… his mother?… watched on with tears in her eyes. Remus supported her on one side, also watching sadly._

_Eight years old, dancing at a ball with a young Nymphadora Tonks-- his toes aching from every time she trod upon them._

_Eleven years old, his Hogwarts letter arriving-- his mother, Remus, and a gorgeous man that could only be Sirius standing around him with wide, proud smiles._

_Eleven again, being sorted into Gryffindor the second the hat touched his head-- a confident grin splitting his face. His mother applauding on her feet from the staff table._

_Halloween that same year, visiting his father's grave with his mother-- she wept so long, her breathing harsh as she gripped the soil. A decade had passed since his death and still she could not move on._

_Thirteen now, sneaking with Neville to the kitchens-- Ron was a prat and, when they were nine, had broken a snitch that had been Harry's father's. Harry had yet to forgive him._

_Fourteen, Pettigrew sneering down at him with wand in hand, the Killing Curse on his lips-- only for Harry's magic to strike out in his panic, destroying his parents' betrayer._

_Fifteen, with laughing grey eyes of the strange, tranquil Sirius-- his godfather had become so much more to him that anyone could imagine and knew him better than anyone else in the world._

_His sixteenth birthday, his arm wrapped around the waist of Ginny Weasley-- a sunken feeling was in his stomach but he ignored it with a false swagger and boisterous laugh._

_His life._

_This was his life._

_His perfect life…_

Harry broke the trance and sputtered, eyes casting around him with a wild look to them. What was going on? Where was he? _Who_ was he?

Harry. He was Harry.

Yes, Harry. Harry Potter. …But what Harry was he? Was he Harry the Chosen One, sixth year benevolent and loved child of Lily and the late James Potter? Or was he Mylläkkä, twenty-six year old vampire and partner to Voldemort? Did he grow up in a loving home with his mother and dual godfathers, or did he spend days at a time in a dusty cupboard?

Harry groaned and fell to his knees, fingers reaching up to thread through his hair. The pounding increased.

He was… he was Harry, damnit! Mylläkkä to some, Harry to most, Pet to Valerian, Loçkë when Tom was groggy enough. His parents had died when he was a baby, Sirius had not been so beautiful and calm-eyed even in life, and he most certainly was not dating Ginny Weasley. He liked _men, _damnit!

But no. His mother had been on an urgent errand the night Voldemort had attacked. James Potter had given his life to save his son. Harry had grown up pampered and loved, Sirius his closest confidant and his mother the most beautiful woman on the planet. He was Harry to all, Luv to his mother, Snidget to Sirius, Cub to Remus. Being gay was _wrong_ and he most certainly liked women. He had to. He was the Savior of the Wizarding World.

Harry screamed and tore at his hair. Dual sensations clawed at his chest, tugged at his mind and made it seem to be stretching in several directions. Light and Dark, human or more, leader or weapon, content or sly. He was all of them and yet none, his mentality twisting around and in on itself in an effort to be put to rights. But what was the correct way? _Was_ there a correct way?

As darkness overtook him, the last thing he saw was the billowing black robes that could belong to none other than Severus Snape. His last conscious thought was hysterical and inane, the crack of those robes the last thing he heard. He really needed to get Severus to teach him how to do that.

* * *

Harry groaned as he awoke, the brightness of the ceiling blinding him. The Hospital Wing, without a doubt. He pressed the tips of his fingers into his eyes and cursed.

"Language, Mister Potter."

He didn't need to open his eyes to recognize the owner of the voice. "Stop being mean to me, Severus."

A soft laugh and the hand was being pried away, familiar dark eyes looking down with a sardonic arch of an eyebrow. "If you have joined us now, Mister Potter, I have a potion that should rid you of your headache."

Harry sighed and sat up a bit, accepting the goblet and plugging his nose with his free hand. Severus snorted as Harry swallowed the potion and pulled a face. "Could you make those any more disgusting?"

"I'm sure I could if I tried. Would you like to be my guinea pig?"

"Aw, mate. Don't encourage the old bat."

Harry leaned to see behind Severus, grinning as his best friend came into view. "Neville, save me! Severus is trying to poison me!"

"I think the thought of what your mother would devise in retribution is enough to stay my hand."

Harry wondered at the painful jolt in his stomach as Snape spoke, at the flash of green behind his eyes. He ignored it and turned back to Severus. "My god, man, have you no balls? Back me up here, Neville."

Neville gave an easy grin and shoved his hands into his robe pockets. "Harry, I've seen your mum in a rage. I think I'm with Severus on this one."

Severus smirked as Harry laughed, his headache fading enough to feel human. "What happened? Why am I here?"

Serious now, Severus ran his wand over Harry's body. "What is the last thing you remember?"

"Erm… telling Ginny I'd meet her at the gates for Hogsmeade? That was after breakfast, wasn't it?"

"Nothing else? That was hours ago, Harry. How in Salazar's name did you end up in the dungeons?"

The headache, barely faded, roared back to life and Harry gripped his temples. "I don't bloody know!"

Severus frowned at whatever the Diagnostic spell was telling him. "You don't seem to have any injuries beyond a bump on the head from hitting the ground. You were screaming bloody murder, though. Is your scar bothering you?"

Harry shook his head.

"Hmm," Severus looked a bit wary, but he shrugged a shoulder. "In any case, you need to go down and see your mother. She'll have my hide if she doesn't find out about this soon…"

Harry thought Severus had continued, but the headache was roaring behind his eyes once more. Images cycled too rapidly to focus on any one, but Harry got the overwhelming feeling of _wrong_ and clenched his teeth.

"…You'll be taking this potion now and one more in an hour, and if that doesn't entirely knock out your headache… Mister Potter, are you listening to me?"

Harry jolted. "Oh, uhh, yeah."

"Harry…"

Harry looked to Neville for help, but the brunet backed away with his hands up. "Sorry, Harry. I'm not getting in the middle of this."

"Sorry, Severus. The headache is distracting, and I don't seem to notice how far away I go when it picks up."

"I have a few more potions for you to take, in that case."

Harry groaned and pulled the sheet over his head, Neville laughing in the background.

* * *

Harry's breath caught as he rounded the corner, eyes on the most lovely woman in the world. Lily was singing and spinning, the Wizarding Wireless echoing through her classroom. A school friend of hers was the afternoon witch in charge of the playlists, and years before Lily had gotten her to begin integrating old Muggle songs in. It had caught on and was taken well by most wizards, so it had stayed a tradition.

"Oh pretty baby, and if it's quite alright I need you baby, to warm the lonely nights…"

She wasn't much of a dancer, something he had picked up from her. He remembered countless afternoons in the kitchen, cleaning up with his mum and being spun in circles, often creating more of a mess than making progress. But it was fine, because in those moments Lily had been happiest, throwing the weight of the world from her shoulders and forgetting responsibility.

…But no. He remembered nothing because there was nothing to remember. Lily Potter had died before he could ever make memories with her.

Harry paused, a chill running down his spine at the disturbing thought. Where had something like that come from? Harry shook his head and pushed the thoughts away, watching his mother with a grin. Her hair was usually kept around her shoulders, but she had let it grow a bit over the last few years. It brushed her shoulder blades as she danced and made a beautiful halo when she spun.

"You'd be like heaven to touch, I wanna hold you so much. My long lost love has arrived, and I thank God I'm alive, you're just too good to be true-- Harry! What are you doing hiding over there?"

Harry sniggered and walked through the doorway. "Watching you make a fool of yourself, Mum. Do you always dance with the door open?"

Lily blushed hotly and looked away, and Harry watched her hands plant themselves on her hips. "Harry James, don't make me take you over my knee. You aren't too old for it."

"I daresay that it is not _his _age he is worried about, Lily."

Harry smiled over his shoulder at Severus and shrugged. "It happens to every child. Seeing their parent go senile…"

Lily was glaring now, but Severus was ignoring her as well and nodded sagely from his side. "It is a pity, really. It always seems to be the better looking ones…"

"Severus!" Lily finally broke into laughter and came toward them. She threaded her fingers through Harry's hair and leaned up to kiss his cheek, before turning and pressing up on her tip-toes to give Severus the same welcome. "Well now, two of my favorite men in the world. What brings you boys here?"

Harry squirmed suddenly and took a step back, cringing as a sneer moved over Severus's face. "Your son was found unconscious in the dungeons."

"What?!" Lily was on him in an instant, hands patting at his sides and examining his face. "What happened? Were you attacked, Harry? Did you faint? Is there any damage, Severus?"

Severus rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, reclining against the doorway. "The brat is sure he doesn't remember what happened and has been having odd moments of vacuity, but he is otherwise unharmed. There was no evidence of a spell cast and his scar is unaffected. I honestly have no idea what happened."

"Oh, Harry. You don't remember anything that might be of use? Don't frighten me like this, luv! I couldn't bear it if something happened to you…"

"Mum, I'm alright. I'm sure I just fainted or something from not eating enough. I've been a bit busy these last couple of weeks; Hermione's already started us on a NEWTS regimen and is forcing me to deal with Ron every day. And Ginny's being demanding, and we moved on to a rough patch in Defense…"

The sight of Lily's eyes filling with tears made the words die on his lips. He knew his excuses didn't fool her, and it was only making it worse. He sent a pleading look to Severus, begging him to help him. He knew, as her best friend, Severus could probably calm her down a lot better than he could. His mother was nutters sometimes.

"Lily," Severus said in a tone that Harry felt was too gentle for the man… but he spoke that way to Mum all the time, didn't he? Harry shook his head and watched as he approached and gently pulled on Lily's shoulders until she detached her hold on Harry. She turned immediately and sobbed into Severus's chest, his expression pained as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

Harry shifted in place awkwardly. His mother had always been terribly overprotective. Since James's death, Harry had become her world. Any small thing made her feel like she had failed him, like she had failed James somehow. Harry hated to see her break down like this, especially over something so relatively small.

One of Severus's hands moved to thread through red hair, and Harry could see his grip tightening. "Harry is fine, Lily. So long as I breathe, nothing will happen to either of you. I swore this to you years ago, and I've never let anything happen, have I?"

Her head shook against him, and Harry breathed out in silent relief. Severus was connected with his mother in a way he would never understand, and they had been through more together than Harry thought he would ever know about. As Severus smiled down at her, Harry wondered, not for the first time, just what was between them. He wondered what might have become of them had James lived, or if James had never been between them…

"Harry luv, don't you have a date with Ginerva you should be getting to?"

Harry jolted and closed his eyes, fighting off the dull nausea that sprung up. Was he nervous? That was silly, considering he had been dating Ginny for a year now. Harry sighed and smiled at Lily. "You're right, Mum. I'll see you later, okay?"

Lily nodded and pulled away from Severus, and Harry fought to ignore the brief flash of pain in the man's eyes. It seemed wrong, all wrong -- _a flash of Severus, older looking and with a glare unlike any of those he used on the students now. Hatred and loathing, yellowed teeth bared _-- but Harry would not feel guilty, he would not let the painful surrealism enclose over him, he would not wonder…

A kiss to his cheek and a soft hand tracing his jaw snapped him out of the strange state. "Be safe, alright?"

"I will."

He left before he could become any more confused.

* * *

Ginny leaned against one of the winged boars' pillars, jaw set and usually warm eyes narrowed. Harry slowed as he approached her, a hand reaching up to sheepishly ruffle his hair. "Hey Gin… I'm really sorry about being late…"

"You'd better be! Do you know how cold it is out here? I've been waiting for an hour, Harry. An hour. We've missed our reservations at Madam Puddifoot's by now."

Harry sighed and tugged at a wayward strand of red hair, much more fiery than his mother's dark shade. Ginny continued glaring but took the cue to step forward, allowing Harry to wrap his arms around her. "I really am sorry, Gin. Severus isn't sure what happened, but I was found unconscious in the dungeons."

Brown eyes widened and Ginny's hands clutched at his Gryffindor scarf. "What happened? Did someone attack you? A Slytherin I bet… but I'm sure you showed him what happens when you mess with Harry Potter, didn't you? Or was it the Dark Lord? Does your scar hurt?"

Harry sighed and spared a small moment to bemoan the women closest to him. Between his mum, Ginny, and Hermione, he'd never get a word in edgewise. He nudged at her side and took her hand, smiling and pulling her through the gates and down the snowy road to Hogsmeade. "Gin, it wasn't like that. We don't know what happened, and Severus said…"

A scowl dipped over Ginny's face. "I hate that man. How you can stand talking to the Greasy Git like that is beyond me, Harry, and I am sorry but I just can't stand him."

Harry was quiet, if only to keep himself from snapping. There were a good many traits he loved about Ginny, but her bigotry -- _abhorrence unadulterated, fists clenched in fury. Hate for the greasy bat, hate because he was hated for a father he'd never know_ -- wasn't one of them. Just like her prat of a brother, she refused to give Severus a chance because he was a Slytherin. Hogsmeade was just coming into sight when he thought he had the calm to answer her. "Yeah, well, I've told you hundreds of times that he is a friend of the family and very important to us. I know you don't really like him right now, but you'll get used to him."

"Every time I see him he has to make snide remarks about my family! I won't be getting used to him."

"That is just how Severus is, Ginny. He snips at us too, but we know he doesn't mean anything by it."

Ginny sniffed and broke the connection between their hands. "I'm going to go see if I can catch up with Romilda. If you're ready to stop being a jerk, Harry, I'll see you at dinner."

Harry glared at the ground as she walked away, curling his toes and swallowing hard. He raised his eyes to look down the road to the main street of Hogsmeade, before shaking his head and turning right, skirting the edge of town and making his way towards his sanctuary. The buildings thinned on the outer ring of homes, leaving room for the bare expansion of the years. He aimed for the too-bright monstrosity of a house that was surely the village eyesore, and a smile overcome his gloomy mood as he hopped the low gate.

The perimeter wards would have alerted his arrival, so Harry wasn't surprised when the front door was swung open. He laughed even as he hit the ground, over five stone of canine settling on his chest. "Urg, bloody hell, Sirius! Gerroff!"

Five stone of dog became fifteen stone of man, a wide smile stretching his face. "Now Snidget, I know we taught you better than to speak like that."

Harry raised an eyebrow and shoved Sirius's shoulders. "Yeah, well, I think getting flattened by your furry half should let me get a few swears in."

Sirius stood and laughed, holding down a hand for Harry to use to pull himself up. "I wasn't talking about the swearing, I was talking about that annoying garbled nonsense. I know we raised you better than that."

Harry pushed at Sirius's chest -- _filthy, matted hair hanging to his elbows, waxy skin stretched over the bones of his face and chest and hands _-- propelling him toward the door. "Ha bloody ha, you great git. Now come on and let's get inside, your house is blinding me."

Sirius flashed him a crooked smile and started for the door. "You always pick on my poor house."

"You painted it red and gold. _Bright_ red and gold. I think your Gryffindor obsession is a bit consuming…"

Another bark of laughter and they were settling at the kitchen table, a set of tea bobbing through the air towards them. "I'm just showing my house pride. Why not let my house extend to my… err… house?"

Harry snickered and added some milk to his tea, trying not to watch as Sirius tried to fill his cup with sugar cubes.

"Heard the news from Remus yet?"

Harry looked up from his morbid fascination with Sirius's over-sugaring. "What's that? I haven't heard from Remus since school started."

"He might be keeping it a secret, but I'm gonna tell you anyway. Tonks is pregnant!"

Harry's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "So soon after the wedding? Merlin, Remus works fast, doesn't he?"

Sirius grinned and kicked back in his chair, pulling his tea up and sipping it contentedly and watching Harry over the rim. "So, Harry, what brings you here? I thought you had your date with Ginny today and you weren't coming 'til tomorrow?"

Harry stared into his cup. "That was the plan."

"Well? What did the bint do this time?"

"Sirius, I know you don't much like her, but please don't call her that. I lo--" Harry broke off as images flashed before his eyes, thoughts of blinding pleasure and short dark hair brushing his cheek, of serene moments in sated bliss with arms and legs wound around him. He heard the whisper of a drowsy voice in his ear, calling him something he didn't recognize. The intoxicating taste of sweat on skin, murmurs of possession and need. How could he compare the mediocre affection he had for Ginny to something as consuming as that? He couldn't compare anything in his life to that…

"Snidget! Harry, are you alright?"

Harry groaned and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I-I'm alright, Sirius." It took him a moment to notice he was horizontal, and realized he must have come out of his chair during the flashes of images. He shook his head and met sober grey eyes. "I'm fine now."

"What happened? You just trailed off and got a glassy look to you… then you fell out of the damned chair! Tell me honestly, Harry…"

"It's nothing. I got a knock to the head this morning and have been feeling rather out of sorts since."

Sirius looked ready to protest, but Harry pushed himself up and put on a strained smile. Sirius sighed. "Alright. But let's go sit in the back, okay? Fresh air might do you good."

Harry allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and led to the back porch, an exasperated sigh, fond though it was, leaving his lips. He sometimes wondered what it would be like to have a family that didn't cosset him -- _dark and cold, sneezing from the dust that continually stirred around him _-- and act like he was frail. He was thankful for his loved ones… but it didn't make it any easier to feel his age when he was continuously treated like a child.

But as he settled on the divan and curled under Sirius's outstretched arm, his irritation fell away. Sirius had been his best friend since he was a child, only closer as he'd grown. No one understood him like his godfather did, and he didn't think anyone… not Neville, not Ginny, not anyone… could ever mean as much. He sighed and lifted his cooling tea.

"What did she do?"

Harry grunted. "Nothing. She has problems with Severus, and you know that bugs me…"

Sirius laughed and tightened his arm. "Snape isn't the easiest guy to like, Harry. If not for your mother, I think none of us would get along with him."

"You think? Severus isn't that bad… he's just a bit prickly."

"You didn't know him before," Sirius grumbled, shifting in his seat. "And besides, your mother raised you to be accepting. Not all parents did, and Slytherins aren't widely loved, as you well know. And, well… your mum wouldn't like me telling you this, but I don't like the idea of protecting you from the truth. Your dad and I didn't get on with Snape when we were in school."

Harry scrunched up his nose. He'd always known Sirius and Severus weren't very friendly, but he hadn't really thought about why. Surely it couldn't be -- _a young Severus laying on the ground, snarling up at two young men with their wands drawn and malicious smirks on their lips_ -- that bad. Harry felt his stomach drop out as Sirius continued, looking out at the Scottish landscape.

"We were… cruel, Harry. Not to say your dad wasn't a great man and my best mate, of course… but we were teenagers. Times were dark then, and Slytherin was tantamount to evil. We… well, Snape was easy."

"Do I want to know what you did to him?" said Harry softly, lips pursing as a flash of skinny legs and graying pants flashed across his vision.

Harry felt Sirius shake his head. "No, I wouldn't like that. You don't need to have bad feelings towards any of us, and Snape gave as good as he got. But my point was, without Lily we'd all likely still have gaps between us, might even hate each other still. I've come to understand a lot over the years, but I know that without Lily, I'd be shit. Your mum is a special lady, you know."

"Don't I ever."

It was said so sarcastically that Sirius laughed in loud guffaws, his second arm moving to wrap his godson in a great bear hug. Harry wheezed as the air was crushed from him, but he was released soon enough and looking up into clear grey eyes, soft with emotion. "You're a good kid, Harry. James woulda been proud. Don't worry about House rivalries and all that… it fades away after school's done. You've only got a year and a half to go!"

"If I live that long."

Sirius froze and his serene smile melted away. "Don't think like that, Harry. You know you have the power necessary to defeat the old snake… we all know you can do it."

Harry shook his head and smiled wanly. "I know it too… it just gets hard to remember sometimes. We'll all be happy then, yeah?"

"I promise you that, Snidget. On all that is magical."

* * *

"Oh, look who it is."

Harry gritted his teeth at the unwelcome voice, glaring over his oval frames at the redhead. "What do you want, Ron?"

His dormmate was standing with a rather ratted scarf wrapped around him, Seamus Finnegan to his left. "You had a row with Ginny. Again."

"You're not her watchdog, Ron."

"She's my sister, and you're just a full-of-yourself-prat who doesn't deserve her! What is it this time, huh? Did she forget to tell you how great you were this morning?"

Harry reddened and made to retort, but a scream from farther up the road caused the three boys to spin towards it, any thoughts of petty bickering dying on their lips.

Ice flooded Harry's veins, and he stared in abject horror at the fiends before him. Tattered robs encased the source of fear itself, pain quickly rising to the surface and smothering all the tranquility Harry's visit with Sirius had managed to invoke. Screaming continued and people were running every which way, but the demonic beings were swooping towards them and Harry couldn't move a muscle. Cold cemented in his bones and he was torn between screaming himself and curling into a ball.

"What is that?!"

"Oh Merlin, we've got to get out of here!"

Harry heard Ron yelling, heard the pounding footsteps as both he and Seamus ran back towards Hogsmeade. It managed to break him of his shock, but the fiends were too close now, and circling to cut off his avenues of escape. He darted to the left, taking his last opening and running as fast as he could towards the Shrieking Shack. He knew better than to believe the stories surrounding the place, and he was sure that if he could get inside he would be able to use the tunnel to get into Hogwart's wards. And the fiends were only after him, it seemed, as they all floated at disturbing speeds after him.

His energy drained and the will to curl up and never move again became stronger. He could feel himself lagging back, could feel the specters gaining on him. Harry let out a dry sob as he collapsed, air thinning out and stealing his breath.

A putrid scent accompanied the robed fiends, and they were close enough for Harry to see their grasping hands, grey and scabbed and with a wet look to them. They were advancing and it _hurt_ and Harry wanted more than anything in his life for them to be gone.

_"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead…"_

The screams filled his ears while a worn man falling back with surprised eyes filled his vision. Somehow he knew it was _Mum _and _Sirius_, a latent knowledge that he couldn't put together. The volume of her screams increased, filling his ears with pleading screeches.

_"Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy…"_

The fiends had paused now, only one continuing toward Harry. It was the tallest of the group, its frock more moth-eaten. It bent toward him, gnarled hand lifting to its hood, and Harry's arm rose of its own volition.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

Harry's last vision as he fell was of a silvery apparition, a jungle cat with its ears back and snarling as it leapt. Harry's last thought was that he was fainting like a bloody girl lately.

* * *

"He's waking up!"

Harry wanted to bat at Hermione, grumble that she was stating the obvious. But he felt lethargic and heavy, unable to even pry open his eyelids to meet Hermione's undoubtedly worried look.

"Back away, Miss Granger. Hovering isn't going to make Mister Potter stop making a scene on the ground any sooner."

The voice was familiar -- _"It's time you learned the difference between life and dreams, Potter." _-- and Harry cracked open green eyes. "Professor?"

A sneer greeted him. "Hello, Mister Potter. If you would so kindly remove yourself from the ground, we need to see the Headmast--"

"Harry! When did you learn the Patronus Charm? That was phenomenal! I can't believe you never told us you knew it, I demand that you teach me to do it as well…"

"Miss Granger, if you would kindly _shut up_, there are more important things than the flashiness of Mister Potter's spell work." Harry's eyes adjusted to the light and he watched the blond straighten. Cool grey eyes were boring into the side of his face. In his perpetually smooth tone, Lucius Malfoy managed to sound both derisive and logical as he spoke. "Though I must comment that the Patronus has never been a part of my curriculum. Did one of your… guardians teach you?"

Harry's nose wrinkled as he thought, trying to piece together what they were talking about. He finally sighed and began attempting to sit up, looking to Lucius with a confused expression. "What is the Patronus Charm?"

The speculative gleam in Lucius's eyes brightened, and all Harry could wonder about is when Professor Malfoy had become _Lucius_ in his mind. He swallowed back a squeak as the man gripped his forearm and roughly 'helped' him to his feet. Hermione was at his side in a moment, shooting badly masked glares toward her Professor. "Harry, the Patronus Charm is a powerful spell for repelling Dementors. You know what Dementors are, don't you? How can you not know what the charm is when you used it?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at his friend and shook off her hands. "I'm fine, Hermione. And of course I know what Dementors are…" he paused and swallowed, "but I just didn't know what they looked like 'til now. A description in a book doesn't do them justice."

"Indeed, Mister Potter. Now, we need to vacate this area before the Dark Lord catches wind of his failure."

Harry was stunned as he was dragged towards the Hogwarts gate, Hermione twisting her robe sleeves and worrying her lower lip as she hurried to keep up. Quickly the truth of his situation was made clear as he realized that the fiends - Dementors - had been sent by Voldemort. It should have been the foregone conclusion for his mind to come to, but he had been too busy running for his life to even attempt to put together the 'why'.

"A panther, Harry. It was really quite impressive. How can you not know the spell you cast? That is a very high level spell, you know. Many adult wizards can't even perform it… but, well, you _are_ Harry Potter, so I suppose the difficult is child's play to you by now. But Harry, it was magnificent! I wonder what the others will think of this…"

Hermione continued her worried babbling, but Harry tuned her out. She would go on about the uses and history of the spell for ages at this rate. Harry turned away, watching Luc--Professor Malfoy's hair sway as he strode along, regal even as he dragged Harry behind him. The thought caused him to look down, heat creeping up his neck as he realized that his professor was still dragging him along by the arm, fingers surprisingly warm even through Harry's robes.

"Harry! Harry!"

He turned just in time to catch Ginny, who was breathing like she had run a mile. He felt his professor's hand slide from his arm. "Gin?"

Her fingers were clenched in the material covering his chest, her breathing hitched. "Oh Harry, I heard you were attacked. I'm sorry I was so short with you this morning, I can't imagine how I would have felt if something had happened to you…"

"Calm down, Ginny," said Harry. "Everything's all right now, isn't it?"

Chilled lips connected with his, and Harry placed a hand on the back of her neck and returned it. The kiss was desperate and somehow reassuring, and Harry realized just how in shock he must be. He hadn't even thought he needed to be reassured, but the familiar body pressed against him and the feel of Ginny's hair between his fingers caused some tension to fade from his shoulders.

"Mister Potter, I will not wait much longer. Your… friends can make their way back on their own."

Ginny looked ready to argue, but Hermione's hand on her shoulder stopped her. "Of course, Professor Malfoy. Come on, Ginny."

The redhead harrumphed but nodded, swiftly brushing her lips to Harry's before stepping away. "I'll see you in the common room, alright?"

Harry nodded and jogged to catch up with Lucius's strides, already feeling colder as they left the girls' presence. "Professor? Are we going to Professor Dumbledore's office?"

"Where else would we be going, Potter?" Lucius sneered, dropping the polite façade. Harry felt a swell of irritation that he stamped down. This man had a reason to hate him, a reason to consider him his bane.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I just wanted to start a conversation."

"I have no will to converse with you, Potter."

"Ugh!" Harry planted his feet and glared, waiting for Lucius to turn and raise a brow. "When are you going to let it go, Malfoy? I'm sorry, alright? I've said it a million times, what more do you want from me?"

Pink began spreading across the regal nose, and Lucius's face hardened. "Apologies will not repair your incompetence, nor will it bring my son back to life. I have no wish for your Gryffindor regrets."

"I was twelve!" Harry exploded, fists tightening in too-long restrained fury. He walked jerkily forward to stare up into grey eyes, mouth set in a firm line and jaw quivering. "It was your own damned fault for being a Death Eater, and your own fault for raising your son to be a spoilt brat. If he had had half a brain he wouldn't have stolen the diary from Ginny in his jealousy! What in Merlin's name makes you think that it could possibly be okay to pin all your mistakes on a child?!"

A fist wrapped itself in his robes, yanking him flush against a fuming Malfoy. "You will not speak ill of my son again. He died because you didn't care that a Slytherin was in danger! Some Savior you are!"

Harry reached up without realizing he was doing it, gripping Lucius by the collar and pulling him down to eye level. "You are mistaken if you believe I will sit here and let you speak this way to me, _Pretty_. Your ineptitude is not my problem. That you had the gall to pin your hopes on a twelve year old is not my problem. That you were too much of a coward to come forward before it was too late is not my problem. So do the world a favor and _shut the hell up_ already."

Just as quickly as the cold rage had gripped him, it released. Harry found himself stumbling back with wide eyes, staring at his own hand before lifting his head to meet the twisted snarl of Lucius Malfoy. "Detention, Potter, for improper address of a professor and for insubordination. You will be at my classroom at eight tonight with your toothbrush; the flobberworm guts are still latched on in places from when we practiced Blasting curses two weeks ago."

Harry nodded quickly, too shocked to protest as a hand wrapped around his bicep and yanked him none too gently forward.

"And, you ungrateful little whelp, if you say another word between here and Dumbledore's office, I will show you what being a Death Eater taught me."

He had no response for that.

* * *

His arms were loosely wrapped around her waist with his back to the wall, soft curves pressed against him chest to thigh. He shivered as Ginny's fingers carded through his hair, manicured nails raking his scalp. Her tongue was demanding as she attempted to devour him, body squirming against him as she attempted to force herself closer.

One of her legs slid to the side, leaving her straddling one of his legs. She moaned softly into his mouth and Harry felt his grip tighten around her waist. It was natural reaction, as was the half-hard erection Ginny's hip rubbed against. But therein lay the problem.

Kissing Ginny was warm. It was comforting, it was familiar. But kissing Ginny was little else. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy it, by any means. Harry loved kissing her. But he had a feeling there should be more to it than warmth. The boys in his year went on about having to wank after making out with their girlfriends. They described surges of heat through their bodies and a fierce need. Harry could only seem to feel the barest beginnings of these feelings.

The thoughts made him queasy, and he didn't fight it when Ginny broke the kiss to trail butterfly kisses down his jaw. His stomach rolled as flashes of half-remembered wet dreams flashed before his eyes, a hard body pressed against him, _into him_, making his back arch and his teeth clench…

"Harry?"

Harry broke his thoughts and panted, staring down into bright brown eyes. "Yeah, Gin?"

Her fingers moved from his hair down the side of his face, tongue reaching out to flick his upper lip. "Hermione told me how brave you must have been, fighting Dementors and casting high-level spells…" Her fingers went down his neck and rested for a moment over his chest before fluttering over his side. "I wish I could have seen it. You're always so impressive when you take control."

Harry's breathing caught as her fingers trailed over his hip. The anticipation was arousing in and of itself, but panic overwhelmed it quickly as he snatched her hands. "I-- I have to get to my detention, Ginny."

Annoyance flashed through her eyes as she stepped back, but it was quickly masked with a sultry look. "Later tonight?"

Harry swallowed. "Yeah. Later."

* * *

"Come in, Mister Potter."

Harry opened the door to the Defense classroom, still buzzing with a disturbing mix of arousal and self-recrimination. Why couldn't he just be normal for once in his life? He was the prophesized Savior of the Wizarding world, for Merlin's sake! He needed to get over whatever weird stage he was going through, defeat Voldemort, have three perfect children whom he would love unconditionally with his beautiful wife. It was what was expected of him, it was what he expected of himself.

He was broken from his daze by a cool voice. "Mister Potter, I hope you brought your toothbrush."

Harry hadn't, of course. He only had one and he wasn't great at Transfiguration. He made his face as blank as he could. "I'm sorry, sir, I must have forgotten."

Lucius scoffed and narrowed his eyes, a hand waving imperiously toward a stack of cauldron-like things. They had placed the flobberworms inside them and practiced the Blasting Curse in a controlled way, and the disgusting little things had exploded spectacularly. "No magic. There is a scrub brush in the bucket. You will stay here until you have finished."

Harry gritted his teeth but gave a jerky nod, forcing himself toward the mess. He scrubbed for what felt like hours, seething as he realized that the days spent drying had adhered the guts to the walls of the cauldrons. Without enough water to soak them his task was nearly impossible. But he scrubbed nonetheless, sitting on the floor with his upper body arched into the things to reach the bottom. He ignored the steady litany of snide remarks that Lucius made, hoping to retain his sanity long enough to be sent away. It wouldn't do to be stuck with more detention because he snapped.

"What a lovely place for you, Mister Potter. I daresay there is no place you deserve to be more than doing menial chores at my feet."

Harry ignored the rage building in his chest.

"Such a diligent worker. Have you considered working in such a field when you leave Hogwarts? I am sure your talent wouldn't go to waste, Mister Potter."

Harry hissed out a long breath through his teeth.

"Not even half done yet? Mister Potter, I'm disappointed. I thought with your obvious talent in the field of scrubbing up waste that I might be getting to bed early tonight. No matter. I don't mind a sleepless night, if only to watch your lovely work."

Black tinged the edges of Harry's vision as he seethed.

"You should consider work as a house elf. You really have the talent to go far in the field."

"Would you bloody well belt up already?!"

Lucius's mouth snapped shut audibly, and Harry stood from his place on the floor, dusting himself off and sneering at the man behind the desk. "I am so tired of your shit. Report me to the Headmaster, I don't care. I'm leaving."

Harry felt the magic zing through the room, and recognized the feel of a locking charm being put into place. "I think not, Potter."

"Let me out, you oversized peacock!"

Harry didn't even see him move. The only thing he knew is that he was no longer standing alone, instead shoved against the cool stone of the classroom wall with a hot body pressed into him. Lucius Malfoy had a smarmy grin on his face, belied by the flat chill of his eyes. "Ten points from Gryffindor for insulting a professor. Five points from Gryffindor for language. Twenty points from Gryffindor for ordering a professor around. Five points from Gryffindor for not following sound advice. Shall I continue?"

Harry wanted to say that the shivers running through him were rage-induced, that the undoubtedly glazed expression on his face was from being so utterly pissed off that he couldn't concentrate. He wanted to pretend his breathing hadn't hitched as the body pressed against him, wanted to deny the resurgence of his arousal to new heights.

But he couldn't. He couldn't deny because it was undoubtedly happening, and Malfoy had noticed. "My, my, Mister Potter. Isn't this an interesting development." A slow grind of hips made Harry's heart stop in his chest and his eyes dilate. Cool breath fanned against his neck and a chuckle vibrated through Lucius's chest. He spoke in a whisper. "What would the world think to know this? Their precious savior, not so perfect."

Harry's mind came back to him and he clenched his fingers around Lucius's shoulders shoving away with all his might. But Lucius had several inches on him and leverage to boot, and he wasn't budging. Harry's breathing became harsh as he panicked. "Get off of me, you arse! Get off, get off, get…"

Lucius did, stepping back and smoothing down his robes. He didn't bother disguising the wicked smirk that stretched his lips as he raked Harry's body with his eyes, resting on the arousal his school robes didn't hide. "An interesting development indeed."

"You sick bastard, if you tell anyone…!"

"What will you do, Potter?" Lucius flipped him around, shoving his face into the stone and curling his body to Harry's back, long blond hair tumbling over their shoulders. "Will you tell them of how I lured you to my classroom and took advantage of you? Will you add your state of arousal, your shame? I have nothing to lose, boy, so try me."

Lucius released him abruptly, and Harry slid down the wall with his cheek to the stone as Lucius retreated to his desk. "Get out of my classroom and out of my sight, Potter. Next time I will not release you so gently."

Harry stumbled to his feet and ran for the door, heart pounding in his chest. Lucius knew what Harry couldn't bear to admit to himself.

He wouldn't be telling a soul.

* * *

Couples Night in the Room of Requirement was something Harry usually looked forward to. All his friends and their significant others gathered there, and they just had a nice time together every Thursday night. But after the night before, Harry wasn't in the mood for this.

"Hermione, please stop," Neville said with deep exasperation, his head falling into his hands.

"I will not stop, Neville! NEWTS are less than a year away, and this is a very important…"

Neville took the book she had been reading from her hands and placed it aside, gripping her hands as she made a reach for it. "Come on, this is our night of the week to relax. Will you please put the book aside for just a bit?"

Her lower lip quivered but she acquiesced, going limp against Neville and sniffling. "I'm sorry, but Professor Vector was telling us about what would be on the Arithmancy exams and there were things I didn't _know_ that she talked about…"

"You've still got a year to figure it out, Hermione. It'll be alright." Harry smiled faintly as Ginny spoke, and even more as she snuggled down against his side. "We made this night so we can all be normal kids, so stop being a worrywart."

"Of course you can say that, you're only a fifth year!"

Ginny scowled. "Only?"

"We're only as young as we feel." Everyone turned to raise an eyebrow at Luna, who smiled back pleasantly. "Yes?"

Ron huffed and rolled his eyes, stretching out ungainly legs and drawing Lavender closer to his side. "There are more important things to discuss. Did you guys hear about Smith?"

Colin Creevey, who had been dating Luna since the summer before after a collaboration for the Quibbler, squeaked and sank back into the couch. "I-I… I did."

Lavender rolled her eyes, "Of course you did, you're the one that caught them."

"Caught them who? What?" said Harry, cocking an eyebrow and peering at Colin. "What happened?"

"I…" Colin's fingers clenched over Luna's and he screwed up his face as he exhaled his sentence. "I caught Zacharias Smith and that Slytherin bloke Zabini snogging!"

Cold filled him. "Oh yeah?"

"Bloody disgusting, that. Makes me ill to know I've been talking to that poofter Smith…"

"Ronald!" Hermione glared. "There is nothing wrong with homosexuality. What, are you from the Dark Ages or something?"

"Nothing wrong with it? I don't care what you do much, but who in their right might would want something up their arse? That is one of the most disgusting…"

Lavender smacked Ron's thigh and made a face. "You're going to make me sick, WonWon. Stop, please."

Neville looked a bit ill himself and sunk back. "Sorry, Hermione, but I've gotta agree. They can do whatever they want in private, but I don't wanna see it."

"What if they liked you?" Colin squeaked. "Zacharias has been talking to you a lot, Ron…"

Ginny waved a hand, oblivious to Harry's frozen state. "That any man could chose to stick himself in another man instead of a woman is beyond me. But it is their loss, guys."

"Crumple-Horned Snorkacks are known to take concubines of the same gender once they've reproduced for the year. You see, sex between a male and female Snorkack is a painful, horrible…"

"Okay, Luna, that's enough!" Neville said quickly, looking faintly green. "Anyway, we need to ask Harry about the Patronus he produced in Hogsmeade. Good show, mate, when did you learn it?"

Ron snorted. "Greedy shite is what he is, not teaching it to any of us. Wanted the glory for himself, as usual."

"Ron, stop talking like that about Harry!"

"Ginny, stop sticking up for your pillock of a boyfriend!"

"All of you stop!" Harry shouted, earning many surprised looks. Harry almost never lost his temper, and he couldn't remember a time he had ever lost it towards any of his friends. He took deep breaths to abate the rage swelling in his chest. "I'm going to take a walk. I'll see you guys later."

Protests sounded immediately, but the dark look on Harry's face seemed to decide them. They let him leave.

* * *

"Lily…"

"I'm afraid, Severus. So afraid. Things are happening quickly lately after so much quiet time. It means something, doesn't it?"

Harry didn't mean to eavesdrop, but he had been wandering the halls to ignore the pounding fear in his heart. His friends were obviously right -- a man liking men was wrong. Very wrong. But hearing it from their lips after… after… Harry shook his head violently and listened more, curious about the softly lit room his mother and Severus were hiding away in.

Severus was silent for a long time, the soft sound of his footfalls echoing as he paced the room. "It always means something, Lily."

"But what will we do?"

"You cannot protect him forever. You have raised him into a fine young man, and now you must be assured in the strength you have given him."

"But Severus… he's my _baby…_"

The pacing stopped and Harry peeked through the dingy door window, smiling softly as he saw Severus wrap his arms around Lily and bury his face in her hair. "I will never say this again, so listen well. That boy is strong and good. You raised him well, Lily, and Merlin be damned… I don't care that he is Potter's. You killed my ability to see him as that years ago. He is a strong boy, and he will go so far. He can never be mine, as you cannot be, but I will always be proud of him as if he were my own."

Lily shifted back to look up, eyes shining brightly. "I don't deserve you, Severus. You are such a good man, and you are so good to us."

"I chose my path many years ago. My place is beside you, even if I can never remove myself from Potter's shadow."

Harry stuffed his fist in his mouth then, hoping he managed to stifle his gasp as Lily pushed herself onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips to Severus's, threading her fingers into his hair to hold him there. Harry could see his arms tightening around her, moving from loosely holding to wrapping around her waist and crushing her to him, and Lily was lifted off her feet. Harry didn't feel embarrassment or disgust or anger as he watched, only a deep sense of contentment and affection. Severus had a hard lot in life, and Harry always thought he deserved more.

The kiss broke finally, Severus gently setting Lily's feet back to the floor and her fingers slowly falling from his hair to cup his face. Her smile was enchanting, and Harry suddenly felt the urge to run away and give them this moment uninterrupted. No matter his happiness for them, he should not have witnessed this.

Harry made to walk away, but he caught her last words as he did. "You are not in James's shadow, Severus. Never think that. You were the first magical person I met, you were my best friend for so long. Even after all that happened and we broke apart, you still owned so much of my heart. It just took me a very long time to know that losing James was not the end of my life. I am sorry that you felt the need to wait for me."

"There will never be another for me, Lily. Never."

Harry jogged for the stairs, a soft smile on his lips. He shoved all thoughts of his sexuality from his head, all doubts of his relationship with Ginny or Dementor attacks or Dark Lords. No matter the hiccups, this was his life.

His wonderful, perfect life.

* * *

The lake was placid on the clear night, and Harry stayed until his skin was numb, watching the glassy surface reflect the moon. He had always been fascinated with the moon; it calmed him when nothing else could. Only Sirius had more of an effect on him than the moon, but his godfather was often not close enough to be of help.

"It is cold out here, Harry. The Fingerlings might get you if you stay out here."

Harry didn't turn, but he did smile. "I'll be going in soon." Luna kicked her feet and hummed, and Harry finally turned to meet her eye. "Need something?"

"The Wrackspurts know you don't belong here. You are broken, but they can't see how to fix you."

Harry felt an ominous wind fold around him, and he knew this wasn't Luna's usual babbling. He stared at her and swallowed deeply. "Wrackspurts, Luna?"

"Did you know that Wrackspurts are all around us, Harry? Most people can't see them, but I can. They tell me all about the things no one should know, things that happened long ago and in far-off places. They flock here for the magic of Hogwarts. And they know what other people can't know. They know you don't belong here."

"Of course I belong, Luna," Harry said with a slightly hysterical laugh. "How would I not…?"

A bellowed roar from the forest interrupted any answer Luna might have had, and they both spun around. Massive figures loomed above the trees, one wrestling with a slightly smaller figure. Giants. The moon's light cast disturbing shadows over their deformed faces, and a shudder ran down Harry's spine.

In the next moment, the moon was reflecting off of bone-white masks as dozens of figures broke the tree line. Certainty set into Harry's bones.

War had come to Hogwarts.

* * *

Note: Yes, trust me, I hated writing the HPGW as much as you hated reading it. Because I, lovelies, couldn't skim while writing it. And HPGW is my least favourite pairing in this fandom. Ick. As for the SSLE... I love it. Not as much as SSHP, mind you, but after DH, I wanted nothing more than to give her to him. It is more for Sec than for Lily, I'm rather ambivalent about her. I swear that this is the last of the graphic het, though. Ugh, thank god.

Revised: 3/21/09


	35. Nodus

Disclaimer: I does not own. I does not want to. Would be shite if I owned. XD

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

Note on _Avada Kedavra_: See the end of OotP. Dumbledore blocks it a couple different ways (the statues, Fawkes, Disapparating). Therefore, we can assume that the Killing Curse being 'unblockable' means 'magically unblockable'. While there is no spell or shield to stop it, ordinary items _can_. Just clearing that up for anyone who was "WAH HOW CAN A PLATE WORK?!" or more sane variations thereof. ;)

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Nodus // A difficult situation or problem; a complication._

* * *

He was in shock. Albus's mind couldn't wrap around the reality of the situation he was now in.

He couldn't believe how wrong he had been. Things had spiraled out of control so quickly, leaving Albus on the receiving end of a Killing Curse from his most prized student. He had thought the boy was merely questioning his place in the war. He had thought that perhaps he was thinking of running away. Never would Albus have imagined that Harry Potter would have defected. His heart clenched as the fear tore through him, the very real precipice he stood on looming dark in his vision.

But everything would be fine. He had used the Repentance curse on the boy and ensured he would see the error of his ways... Albus shuddered to imagine fighting this war without his weapon, but if he could stand against Gellert -- dear, misled Gellert -- he could surely stand against Tom. It was a pity the situation had become so involved, especially with his use of the spell being so public. People would wonder, and word would very possibly get out.

He summoned a plate, transfiguring it in mid-flight into a mirror to reflect the green spell light away. He didn't want to use a live animal, even transfigured, in front of the children, and only a mirror would allow him to direct the trajectory of the deadly curse.

All conscious wonderings stopped with the sound of a voice on his right. "_Accio_ mirror!"

Albus turned with betrayal burning through his veins, meeting familiar hazel eyes. He had just a moment to register the smug vindication glinting in them before his world was lit in a haze of green.

Albus Dumbledore knew no more.

* * *

Harry leapt to his feet, wand in his hand without any conscious decision to draw it. "Luna, run to the castle. Get the Headmaster!"

Luna was off and running without question, only pausing long enough to meet Harry's eyes with her own. "It was nice to meet you, though."

He didn't have time to think about the strange tone in Luna's voice or the words that made him second guess himself; there were much more urgent matters on his hands. Harry wracked his mind for a strategy, eyes on the line of figures. Now that he listened, the cracks of Apparition echoed over the grounds, and Harry felt faint as he heard the continuous addition of Death Eaters.

Grawp screamed. Harry stood frozen on the lake's bank and watched the larger giant grip Grawp's head, the snarl on its face decidedly wicked in the moonlight. And then the screams stopped as the larger giant twisted, effectively snapping Grawp's neck and tossing him deeper into the forest. The giant bellowed and beat its chest, and Harry heard a cacophony of roars join him.

He was terrified. Death already had befallen one of their members, and the Death Eaters had not even left the edge of the forest. It was all the more frightening to see white masks within the shadows, the line growing ever wider as the Death Eaters took position. Harry wanted to shout at them, ask why they were not moving to attack, why they were waiting there silently. The intimidation that was likely intended with the move washed through him and forced him to move, turning him toward the castle at a sprint.

The doors crashed open to reveal Albus Dumbledore, moonlight causing his beard and hair to glow. "Harry, you must come inside. It will do us no good to fight in the darkness. The only hope is held within the Light. Inside, dear boy, so we may seal the castle."

"Sir, but what of the damage they could do in the meantime? There are hours still until morning…" Harry's eyes strayed back to the line of Death Eaters, seeing them moving steadily along the forest's tree line towards Hogsmeade. "What of Hogsmeade? Sirius is there!"

"Hush, my boy. Inside with you. Sirius will find his way here, I am sure, but you are the most important person. You must be safe."

"No! I won't run and hide from this!"

"You will have the chance to confront your destiny soon enough my boy. Be not so hasty to run into the lap of danger."

Harry turned on his heel and made to run towards the village, the village that even now the line of Death Eaters was creeping nearer to. He could not leave Sirius in danger. He wouldn't abandon a town to ruin just because Dumbledore wanted him safe through the night.

He only faintly heard a sigh from the Headmaster. "_Sopio_."

* * *

Breathing in calmly, the watcher relished in true freedom. Living decades in layered personas was a tiring affair, but finally they were able to strip them all away, tossing to the side the excuses and ingratiation. Two words had been all it had taken to rid them of over fifty years of lies.

Minerva McGonagall smiled.

Her story was too long to tell, and Minerva had no wish to contemplate the past. But she had been a supporter of Tom Riddle since long before he had become Lord Voldemort, since he had been nothing but a charismatic youth a year behind her in Hogwarts. He had enthralled her early on with his power, and he had easily seen the advantages of having a Gryffindor supporter. Power was the only thing on Tom Riddle's mind at the best of times, Minerva knew. And when Tom Riddle had been turned down for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, he had ordered her into a position in Hogwarts, to watch Dumbledore and subvert any plans he might attempt as Lord Voldemort rose to power.

And so Minerva had waited.

But oh, finally she could be free to join her lord. Dumbledore was gone, as were his manipulations and schemes. In fact, Minerva wondered if she might be appointed Headmistress in Dumbledore's stead, free to teach without that old buzzard watching her every move.

Screams rose in the Great Hall, and suddenly there was a stampede towards the oversized double doors. Students shoved and ran, tripped over their robes or the bodies of fallen comrades. Minerva's eyes trailed to where Potter was collapsed, watching Granger and Longbottom attempt to shield him. That was a surprise, seeing the two Gryffindors protecting their fallen friend despite the revelation of his identity.

Minerva straightened and nodded with approval as Severus pulled his wand out, casting locking spells on the Great Hall's doors and calling attention within the panicked room. This would be a difficult evening… but Minerva had waited over fifty years.

A few more hours wouldn't hurt.

* * *

"You will not keep this from, him, Albus!"

Harry stirred at the familiar voice, his consciousness slowly creeping back to him. He wasn't sure where he was; he couldn't even remember when he had fallen asleep.

"My dear boy… do you really wish to impart such grievance on young Harry?"

Anger, hot and fierce, burning through his veins at that voice. Harry tried to move and found he could not.

"It will only harm him more if he is not told! I refuse to be a part of his charade…"

_Remus_, his mind supplied. But why was Remus there? Remus had a home in Edinburgh, away from the pressures and discrimination of the Wizarding world. He and Tonks stayed away from magical areas like Hogwarts all they could… so why…?

"He will be told in good time, my boy."

Awareness crept in slowly, fog lifting from Harry's mind as the meaning of the words finally penetrated. Something was _wrong_. Something that Dumbledore wished to keep from him. Something big enough to make Remus come to Hogwarts.

_Bone white masks reflected under the moonlight, howls coming from the forest and ringing in Harry's ears…_

Harry sat up.

It hadn't been the greatest of ideas to react as such, as the blood left his head in a painful whoosh. Harry groaned, attracting the attention of the others in the room to his bedside.

"Harry! Harry, are you alright?"

"Ungh…" Harry fell back against his pillow, arm going to cover his eyes from the bright light of the room. "What happened? What is going on?"

Magic tapped against his senses, and Harry stiffened. Albus's voice was soft and caring, but Harry's feelings contradicted the kind demeanor. He was _angry_ at Dumbledore. "You are just waking up now. And it is good that you have, as we will need you in this fight."

Fight. Harry suddenly snarled, an animalistic sound of rage. "Why did you put a spell on me, Headmaster?"

"Because you were about to run recklessly into danger, despite all good advice…"

"Sirius!" Harry was sitting up again, the quick motion not as jarring the second time. "What happened to Hogsmeade?"

Harry's eyes focused just in time to see Remus turn away, bloodshot eyes glassy. Harry didn't need confirmation. He felt his own magic wrap around him, lifting his hair and unsettling the pitcher of water beside his bed.

Albus closed his eyes in apparent sadness, but Harry had a feeling it was more in irritation. "Harry, you must get a hold of yourself…"

"This is your fault! Yours, Headmaster! You told me it would be fine! You prevented me from going to him--"

"I prevented you from dying needlessly. You have a much larger part to play in this war than dying ignobly…"

"There would have been nothing ignoble about saving Sirius, Albus!" Remus's eyes had a golden sheen, and Harry paused whatever he might have said in the face of the werewolf's rage. "And there is no telling what might have happened had the Boy-Who-Lived arrived to aid Hogsmeade!"

Harry flinched at Remus's address, but pushed the pain away to meet steady blue eyes. "You stopped me. You didn't let me save him." Grief welled up from deep in his gut, leaving him feeling ill. He was mortified when tears sprang to his eyes and clogged his throat. "You let him die because you didn't want your weapon harmed." He paused and took a deep breath as calm settled within him and certainty steadied his voice. "I will kill them. Every last one of them."

Finally… finally Albus looked alarmed, twinkling eyes widening and his mouth thinning into a serious line. "You are speaking harshly, my boy. Be not so quick to think of death as the answer…"

"Is it really a choice anymore, Albus? The boy has had death laid out at his feet for the second time in his life… and you are daring to deny him vengeance?"

"Death is not the answer, Remus."

Remus looked ready to argue, but the door flew open just as he began, revealing a wild-eyed Lily being supported by a solemn Severus. "Harry, luv?"

"Mum…" Harry, again, felt emotion clog his throat.

"Oh, luv… I'm so, so sorry…"

She hugged him, and Harry felt like there was nothing else that could have calmed him more easily than that. His heart clenching, Harry clung to her like a child. She cooed in his ear and whispered sweet things, touching him more deeply than anyone else would be able to. But as Harry glanced over her shoulders to meet the Headmaster's eyes, he knew this was not the end. And he would have his vengeance.

* * *

Severus lunged over the table as the screams began, instinct driving him to seal closed the Great Hall's doors and cast sparks into the air. He couldn't stop himself from glancing back at the smug visage of Minerva McGonagall, who smirked like all was right in the world.

As Severus's eyes moved to the corpse of Albus Dumbledore, he wondered if perhaps everything really might be.

Putting aside the shocking revelations of Minerva's allegiances, Severus's mind turned back to Potter. Potter had done it. Where others had failed, Potter had managed to totally knock the world from its foundation, taking down the very epitome of Light. Things had fallen apart, but nonetheless Potter had managed where no one else could have. Again.

Damned brat.

The spell Dumbledore had used had been unexpected. Severus knew very well what the curse entailed, and Severus beseeched whatever spirits might be listening that he would not have to be the one to explain to the Dark Lord. A chill of foreboding lanced down his spine as phantom Cruciatus pains twanged in his fingertips.

But in the meantime, all he could do was send a messenger to his master, inform him as quickly as possible of Potter's situation. Because the Dark Lord did not take kindly to being made to wait…

There was something short of a riot breaking out now, students pounding fruitlessly at the Great Hall's doors and pushing one another to get a chance to attempt to escape. Severus dually wanted to hit them over the head and save them from themselves, unsure which path to choose.

In the end, Severus pointed his wand to his throat with a muttered _Sonorus_. "All of you will take your seats. _Now_."

Whether it was the volume or the tenor of his voice, movement froze in the room. Slowly students began making their way back to their house tables, and Severus sneered down his nose at the pathetic whimpers and lost expressions they donned.

"As of this moment, I declare Hogwarts to be under Ethelred's Law. Staff and students alike are now under the control of only those the new Headmistress designates, and any threat is grounds for harm." He let his eyes glide over the upturned faces, shock and fear plain upon them. Something deep inside of him went cold, but Severus pushed it away. He was not so weak.

He was about to continue when the doors to the Great Hall crashed open, and Severus's eyes widened in realization. Only one person still alive had the magical power to dismantle his wards. Panic set in as Severus wondered just how in Merlin's name the Dark Lord could already know when it had barely happened minutes before.

His lord stormed in with a fierce snarl, reptilian guise in place and aura menacing. Shrieks began anew within moments, but they were silenced immediately with an angry swipe of Voldemort's hand. "Where is he, Severus?" he hissed out in a low tone, easily heard over the now forcibly silenced students.

Severus waved his hand toward the Gryffindor table, toward the apparently petrified Granger and Longbottom. The two looked shell-shocked as they watched Voldemort stalk toward them, masked Death Eaters trailing in his wake. He glanced towards the doors and noted the Death Eaters that had stayed there, blocking off the entrance from any foolish enough to attempt escape.

"Move, silly girl," Voldemort barked, snapping Severus's attention back to him.

Voldemort pulled out his wand and Hermione skittered back, yanking Neville against the table and steeling herself. Voldemort ignored her and knelt down beside Potter's prone form, his wand sailing back and forth in swooping patterns. Voldemort's dark scowl became more pronounced, and crimson eyes were soon flying up to pin Severus into place. "What happened to him? His body is in stasis! Tell me what that old fool has done!"

Severus mentally bemoaned that no spirit had heeded his pleas as he stood straighter, inclining his head toward his lord and speaking in a flat voice. "Perhaps, my lord, we should take the boy into the hall's antechamber? I do not think you wish for our audience to know of Po--Lord Mylläkkä's current condition."

Voldemort looked as if he might protest, but instead he pushed himself to his feet and waved his wand, levitating Potter's body at his side. "Come, then."

Severus bowed and hurried towards the side door, setting wards on the hall's doors to alert him of anyone under seventeen nearing them. He didn't want to leave the children in the care of Death Eaters, no matter his personal feelings on them. Minerva had taken her seat now, and she met his eyes. She was clearly amused at his contrary behavior, but he couldn't care less in that moment. He had enough to think about in regards to Minerva, he didn't need to add onto it her trustworthiness as a professor.

Severus was irritated to see Granger and Longbottom hurrying through the antechamber's door, only slightly placated at their palpable fear. When Draco managed to slip in as well, Severus thought he might take points from Slytherin for the first time in his career. However, the Dark Lord cut off any scathing comments as he spoke.

"Now, Severus…" there was a dangerous gleam in the Dark Lord's eyes, and it made Severus want to back away. "What has happened to Potter?"

Severus sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. "The Weasley buffoon cast a jinx on Potter that revealed his identity to the school. He was a cocky brat, as usual, and it came down to Dumbledore casting the Repentance curse"

"What does it do, Severus? I do not care for your diatribe. I want to know why Potter is currently comatose, and I want to know now," Voldemort cut in, eyes blazing as he glanced towards Potter and back to Severus, a snarl lifting his mouth.

Severus swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling very much like his existence depended on his answer. He could only hope that Voldemort would not shoot the messenger. He tried to put his thoughts together into something less dangerous that would, perhaps, not incite his volatile lord into murder. "The Repentance curse--"

"--Is a very large problem."

Severus turned, aghast that he had not noticed the door opening. In the doorway was a disheveled Dante Pierce, fury coloring his voice if not his expression. Severus glared. "And just where in the seven layers of Hell have you been, Pierce?"

Blue eyes fixed on Severus as the door was pulled shut, and he hoped that he was not making his discomfort obvious. "I was penning a letter, you dodgy fool. And then," Dante's eyes cut to Voldemort, "your ingrate soldiers would not let me pass into the hall. Two are dead."

Voldemort lifted a shoulder indifferently. "I am sure it is no great loss. Now, Pierce, you know this spell?"

Dante looked back to Severus and waved a hand. "Go on."

Severus shifted his weight and glared, but turned to his lord quickly. "The Repentance curse was created as a means of obedience for soldiers. If a commander believed a follower capable of being tempted away, the curse was placed to force regret for their wrongdoings and secure loyalty. It creates a fabricated world within the person's mind, giving a semblance of a perfect world. This is influenced by the caster's idea of such a world, but it is, in large part, a creation of the person on whom the spell is cast."

Voldemort's eyes were narrowed to angry slits. "Then wake him up."

Severus hesitated, breath catching in his throat, again calling on whatever gods existed to save him from this task…

"He cannot be."

Even though Severus had not had to be the one to inform the Dark Lord of the fact, only years of control kept Severus's breath from expelling forcefully as crimson eyes ignited.

* * *

Harry rolled his shoulders, sucking in a deep breath and closing his eyes. The bolted front doors of Hogwarts loomed over him, echoes of activity from the Great Hall providing a backdrop for Harry's thoughts. Morning had dawned hours before, and only now were preparations for battle being made. But Harry was ready. No matter what the Headmaster said, he would face his destiny this day.

Harry shook his head, snorting as his thoughts took an exaggerated turn. It seemed the drama and magnitude of the moment was affecting him. Thoughts of battle and heroism, of justice and vengeance…

Vengeance for his losses, for _Sirius_…

A sharp intake of breath, and Harry clamped his eyes shut. He couldn't afford to think of Sirius now. Mourning would have to wait. For now, he had a monster to eradicate.

"Harry?"

Harry turned to the familiar voice, eyes narrowing when he saw the group of people gathered around her. "Hermione? What is going on?"

Ron was at her side, scowling and turning red around the ears. "We want to fight, Potter. I'm not going to let you have all the glory."

Hermione elbowed him, glaring from the corner of her eyes. "Ronald, belt up. Harry… we are here to help you."

"Yeah, mate. Not like I can really leave you to this by yourself, huh?" Neville gave a strained grin, meeting Harry's eyes resolutely. "I'm always by your side, Harry. Through thick and thin, ey?"

Harry couldn't help the way his lips twitched at the old joke between them, a play on Neville's problems with his weight compared to his own underfed appearance when they were younger. Luna stood off to the other side, a shaking Colin at her side. The boy's chin was tilted up daringly, despite the quivering of his limbs. Lavender was not present, but he wouldn't have expected it. The ones present were the brave ones, the ones that he knew he could count on. Even Ron, for all his pratishness, was someone Harry knew would not waver.

"Guys…"

"And girls!" Hermione added with a small smile.

"And girls…" Harry looked them over. "You realize what you're getting into, right? This isn't like Defense lessons. People die in battle."

Colin looked a bit green now, and the irritated red had drained from Ron's face, but none of them moved away. Hermione continued to be their spokesperson and laced her fingers through Neville's. "We know, Harry. And so long as you will be out there, so will we."

Harry turned back to his silent contemplation of the doors, breathing deeply to calm himself. "Then be ready for anything, guys. I refuse to lose any of you."

* * *

Voldemort strode forward fluidly, wand pointing threateningly at the vampire. The pounding of blood in his ears was a constant. He could not have heard correctly.

"What did you say?"

Pierce didn't react to his threatening countenance, only settling back and raising a golden eyebrow. "I said that he cannot be awoken."

Gasps rang out. Voldemort remembered now that the Granger chit and the chubby one had followed them in, and he glanced now to see them as white as a sheet, with Lucius's son staring wide-eyed beside them. He turned back to the vampire with a glare.

"That answer is unacceptable."

A challenging smirk. "Because you love him."

More gasps, shocked at the vampire's gall, and Voldemort's lip curled. "_Crucio._"

The vampire curled to his knees, fangs bared as a hiss escaped his lips, but he did not retaliate. Voldemort wondered at that momentarily before pushing more magic into the spell, feeding it with his anger. Blue eyes glanced up, anger roiling within them. "Causing me pain will not bring Mylläkkä back, Lord Voldemort. And it is only that he would not want you harmed that stays my hand. And yet, if you do not release me from your spell, I swear I will inflict as much harm as possible while keeping you alive, Mylläkkä's wishes be damned."

Voldemort sneered, not intimidated by the vampire's snarling tone. "You will tell me how to bring Potter out of this trance, or I will kill you. I care less for his good graces than you do."

"And there you stand falsely." Dante seemed to grasp the pain, uncurling enough to stare up into crimson eyes. "Your denial will be your downfall, especially if Mylläkkä is not who you remember when he returns." The spell was released and Dante caught his weight with his hands, breathing deeply and glaring through his bangs. "You are lucky I have already failed Mylläkkä once this day, or you would not be breathing Lord Voldemort."

"Tell me what you meant!" Voldemort wondered if this was what true panic felt like, ice water flooding his veins even as his heart pumped more harshly than ever. "Why would Potter not be as I remember? Tell me before I kill you!"

"Stop!" Voldemort was noticeably surprised as the bushy-haired little chit stared at him with a jutted chin, quivering though it was. "Harry wouldn't wanting you hurting his friends because you are upset. Please, just stop."

"Do you think, little mudblood, that I care what Potter would think? You are as much as a fool as the vampire."

He saw her chest heaving, and nearly sighed for underestimating Gryffindor courage. "I know you care, even if you don't want to. You made those potions for me, you worked all night just because Harry didn't want to kill me. I _know_ you care…"

Belatedly, Voldemort remembered the mental instability of the Granger girl, and watched as she worked herself up. With Potter unconscious, this could only end badly. He raised his wand to fire a curse at her to shut her up, if only to stave off her imminent explosion.

"The world Mylläkkä is in will change him." Dante's sudden proclamation had its intended effect, and Voldemort's attention was turned back to him along with the attention of Granger. The blond stared steadily up at Voldemort, head tilted to the side. "He will break within it."

Long fingers curled and uncurled, and Voldemort fought to retain control. "Explain."

Dante stood and brushed dirt from his trousers, rolling his neck several times before bothering to answer, raking his eyes over the room's occupants. "The spell is in three parts, each feeling just as real as the one prior. Mylläkkä will first be plied with perfection… a flawless world built to _feel_ perfect even when it is not…"

* * *

"Harry!"

Harry turned, barely in time to catch the bundle of flowing auburn, arms wrapping automatically around her. "Gin?"

When she looked up her eyes were dry, but Harry could hear the thickness of her voice. "I don't want you to do this. I've changed my mind. Going against the Slytherins is one thing, but these are adult wizards, Harry! I don't… I don't want you be hurt!"

Harry was quite surprised. Generally, Ginny was his biggest supporter when it came to his death-defying antics, oftentimes even going so far as to instigate situations. He met her eyes, frantic and painfully afraid. "Ginny, you know I have to do this."

"Oi, Ginny! What are you doing out here?"

Ginny glared at her brother over Harry's shoulder. "I'm not a child, Ron, and I don't report to you!"

Ron strode over. "You may not be a kid, but you're still my sister! You'd better not be thinking of going out there. Girls shouldn't be…" Ron froze his speech and turned wide blue eyes toward the staircase, where Hermione stood with a dark expression. Ron forced on a smile and turned back to Ginny, rubbing at the back of his neck. "What I mean, 'course, is that I don't want to see you hurt. Nothing to do with gender. No siree."

Shaking her head with one last glare, she turned back to Harry, fingers tightening on the collar of his robes. "Harry, don't go. You don't have to do this. Please, just come back to the tower…"

Harry looked down and felt his heart twist. Perhaps she was sometimes shallow, and he was coming to understand that his feelings for her were not what they should be… but at her core, Ginny was a good, kind girl. As he pushed at her shoulders to dislodge her, wrapping his fingers around her wrists to keep her from grabbing hold once more, he felt a piece of himself detach. "Ginny, you know better. I have to do this. There is no option for me. Alright? Just go up to the tower with Lavender. I will be back."

"No!" she shook his hands from her and planted her own on her hips. "You're treating me like my brother, Harry! I won't stand for it! If you can fight, so can I."

Ron began to bluster in the background, but Harry merely raised placating hands. "I won't stop you if you want to fight, Gin. But it's got to be your own choice--"

"Harry, come here."

Harry would never admit to jumping as high as he did in that moment, whirling around sheepishly. "Uh, Severus? When did you get here?"

A sardonic brow rose, and Harry hurried forward. As soon as he was close enough, Severus had his biceps in a bruising grip and was yanking him forward. "Harry, what in Morgana's name are you thinking? Is it not enough that you must fight? These… these _children_ should not be a part of this."

"Do you think I don't know that?" Harry could hear the frustration coloring his own voice. "I don't want them anywhere near the fight. But you know they'll just come anyway, even if I tell them no. I can't stop them any more than you can."

Verdant eyes rose to meet black, and Harry cringed to see the depth of the lines around Severus's eyes. He looked so tired, so worn. Severus had aged almost as badly as Remus, but so long as he stayed relaxed it was harder to tell. But in that moment he looked twice his own age. Severus nodded and released his arms, fingers raising to tug at a forelock of Harry's hair. "You're right, brat. But please, for your mother's sake if for no other reason, _be safe_."

Harry clasped his hand on Severus's forearm and squeezed, a true smile tilting his lips. "I will. For all of us. Watch over Mum for me."

Severus melted away into the shadows, and Harry turned back to his peers to find them watching with varying degrees of obviousness. "Alright, you guys, we need to go into the Great Hall now. I won't let Dumbledore hold off this fight much longer."

There were no cheers or smiles, only grim acceptance. Harry closed his eyes momentarily as he stalked towards the doors, wishing these others had not needed to grow up as fast as him. But he had little impact on the way of the world, and could only hope to end this conflict before anyone else was lost.

* * *

"And then slowly the perfection will be ripped away. Because what is true loss if not losing everything you've ever dreamed of? There are shreads of truth even within the falseness of the perfect world. Long buried hopes, dreams from as early as childhood. The world gives these things and then takes them away."

* * *

_"__**Lily, no!**__"_

Harry's heart stopped in his chest at Severus's bellow, his entire world freezing. He paid no heed to the spells that still zipped by him, ignored the frantic shouts of his comrades and enemies. His entire existence was centered on the raw desperation in Severus Snape's voice, and the knowledge of what it meant. He turned just in time to see Severus wrap his arms around Lily and topple to the ground… Just as a giant's club came down upon them.

Harry felt anesthetized, without conscious control over his movements. He no longer felt pain from his minor wounds and scrapes. He didn't have to put thought into his movements. Even when he finally managed to dislodge himself from the void that had swallowed him, the numbness stayed behind.

Harry didn't know where the preternatural cold came from, but he grasped it thankfully and let it consume him. His body moved of its own accord, and he found himself rolling beneath malicious spells, darting forward to connect an elbow into the masked face of an attacker. Spells he had no earthly way of knowing fell easily from his lips, and the screams and panic around him fell away. Sirius and Lily and Severus were pushed to the farthest reaches of his mind as he confronted Death Eater after Death Eater.

An orange curse sped towards him, and he dropped to the ground to avoid its trajectory. He rolled to his feet behind a tree and turned to fire a curse back at the Death Eater who had attacked him. Instantly reacting. Merciless. Unfeeling.

His godfather was dead, and now his mother and Severus as well. He supposed it was more kind that Severus go with Lily, because with the man's devotion to his mother, Harry could only imagine what her loss would have done to him. Everyone he loved was being picked off around him. But he couldn't care, he couldn't falter. There were more important things… things like killing the bastards who took them away.

Blood. The sight of it had made him ill since he was a child, but now he yearned for it. A cutting curse well-placed severing the throat of an adversary, the screams of the dying filling his ears. And something within him relished in the pain and death, even as the rest of him slid complacently through the motions.

Someone approached from behind, and Harry spun with a curse on his lips. Blond hair stopped him, and he lowered his wand a fraction before turning away, seeking his next victim.

"Potter."

Harry ignored the voice, ignored the reality of a person _speaking to him_ because he refused to deal with reality. There was death, there was vengeance. There was nothing more.

"Potter, stop this foolishness. The Dark Lord is coming. You must…"

Harry snarled and pointed his wand back, a small smirk lighting his features as it jabbed into soft flesh. "Get away from me, Pretty, or I will strike you down like the Death Eater you are."

Lucius's breath sucked in audibly, but Harry was already making his way back toward the fray, sidestepping bodies of the fallen without a glance.

And then pain became all he knew as his forehead ignited. His hand flew up, palm pressing in a fruitless attempt to stop the searing agony.

Hissing laughter came and the pain abated, enough for green eyes to crack open. Brilliant crimson eyes set in a paper-white face. Dark hair laced with gray. It was Lord Voldemort without a doubt.

And Harry _remembered_.

* * *

"And then he will be broken, driven to the brink of madness by recrimination. The spell has a damning flaw which made it fall out of use after the war it was created in. Because even though it often produces the perfect soldier, broken and willing to serve, a puppet in the hands of the caster--"

Voldemort scowled, and Dante found this most amusing. He wondered if Voldemort realized he had reverted to his natural form and that it was a very obvious sign of his distress. Dark hair was perfectly in place, but his skin was sallow and pinched lines made themselves noticed around his eyes. Dante almost felt something like regret in that moment, knowing the conflicting emotions he was creating. Dark Lord or no, and as unfeeling as he purported himself to be, Voldemort was still a man. And he was a man whose lover was currently cataleptic would never awaken as he once had been.

"I refuse to believe that Dumbledore could so thoroughly subvert Potter. The boy is careless, but he is not an imbecile. He is too stubborn to allow himself to be taken over as such," Voldemort hissed.

Dante raked a hand through his hair in agitation, before checking himself and pushing the emotion down. His own self-recrimination was great, but he could not imagine the situation Voldemort was in. There was no doubt to Dante of where the man's heart laid. "It is as you say, Lord Voldemort. However, the spell requires the subject of the curse to regret and repent for the things they have done. If Mylläkkä does not honestly repent, the spell will kill them, tearing away all traces of sanity and shutting down his systems from shock. And so it comes down to this, Lord Voldemort: what do you think the chances are that Mylläkkä will atone for his sins?"

* * *

"Tom…"

There was no blinding light of epiphany, no pain of assimilation or moment of rhapsodic reunion. Harry simply blinked… and in that moment he knew. Truth surrounded him, and his breath caught. None of this was right. What had happened to bring him here?

"Well, well, well… Harry Potter. Isn't this fortuitous?"

Harry sneered right back at the Dark Lord, raising his hand to flip his hair, only to find it shorn. He shook his head and lifted his eyebrow. "Maybe for you, Tom, but right now I'm feeling a bit under the weather."

A brief flash of confusion passed over Voldemort's features before he controlled himself, drawing himself up haughtily to look down his nose at Harry. "It seems you have brought your wit to this meeting, Potter. Pity you'll have to die, so soon after discovering how to have a proper verbal exchange."

The tone was familiar, malicious with a hint of banter… how many times had Tom snarked at him from over the desk with the same baritone drawl? Harry swallowed and shoved his mounting insecurities under his humor. "So sure of yourself, Tom. But, you know, there is an easy way out of this? I can kill Dumbledore over there, and we can skip merrily into the sunset. How's that sound?"

Harry heard several gasps, but he simply stared into Voldemort's eyes, fingers clenched at his side. This was wrong, all wrong. This was not his Tom. He wasn't nearly as good looking as his Tom was, Harry remarked snidely to himself as he tried to quell his panic. Nose too flat, hair too thin. Obviously he had gone about breaking the block on his Metamorphmagus abilities in a different way.

Harry couldn't bring himself to fight back as Voldemort strode forward and wrapped spindly fingers around his neck, lips a hairsbreadth away as a wicked grin curved them.

"You are bold, Harry," Harry shivered at that voice saying his first name, and an inane regret passed through his mind that he had never broken his own Tom of calling him Potter. "It is too bad that it will not save you."

As the yew wand entered his vision and he felt it press against his scar, Harry began to struggle. "Tom, please don't do this."

"Goodbye, Potter. _Avada Kedavra_."

And darkness surrounded Harry, leaving him with three words just short of his lips.

* * *

_"I love this, I love this, I love this, _I love you_, don't fucking stop or I'll kill you, I swear it!_"

Voldemort stared forward, thought processes halted with not-so-distant memories playing behind his eyes. He had never felt so detached in his life, and yet he felt filled to breaking with emotion.

The only clear thought running through his mind was simple, and it rang painfully with its truth.

Harry would die, because Harry would never ask forgiveness.

* * *

As a note about McGonagall, credit for the idea goes to Blanche Flower. :) She inspired me with a well-thought idea back in chapter five, and linked me to an LJ artivle that was a really amusing take at how Minerva could be evil. So I ran with it. Thank you, so long after the suggestion was given. :) PM me if you want the article, it is made of awesome. Or just Google "McGonagall is a Death Eater" and you'll find it.

Revised: 3/21/09 (How long was the scene between "And Harry _remembered_." and the scene with Voldemort gone? I know for a fact that it was there when I uploaded, but it was just... missing as I edit now. OMG. I can't imagine how many people were confused, since that one is the one that explains everything! Ugh! It is back now, though.)


	36. Pernicious

Disclaimer: I does not own. I does not want to. Would be shite if I owned. XD

**Uber long chapter, nearly 12k! All because I love you. You love me too, ne? So you can't hurt me. :3**

The scene from the omniscient-ish/student POV (you should be able to pinpoint it, as I've never gone from a non-character POV in this story before) is meant to be _utterly _over the top. I actually wanted it to be more Gary Stu than it is. But yes, the descriptions in it are intentionally flowery and over done. Empy needed a drama break. ;)

Alternating realities again, and a crapload of ellipse abuse (one scene in particular). Sorry, but Harry's… umm… messed up? :P

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Pernicious // wicked; meaning to cause harm, destruction, or death_

* * *

Glass. A room made of glass. It was some form of night outside the glass room Harry found himself encased within, stars shining brightly around a full moon. The light from it cast long shadows, engulfing whatever scenery there was around him. The moon was too bright, Harry thought, too close and too bright. It was surreal and shining white overhead, hovering far too close to earth and filling the sky, ominously contrasting with the black around him. Calling to him, beseeching him to rise up.

He wondered if the earth's center of gravity was thrown off by the proximity before realizing what a foolish thought it was. He was obviously still trapped in some parody of reality… if he was not dead.

Harry stared for long moments, caught somewhere between asleep and awake, between the light of the moon and the darkness that surrounded him, between smug crimson eyes shining with victory and the feeling of waking up alive. Had it been a dream, that strange alternate world? Heavy hair once more hung over his shoulder and he didn't need to do something foolish like poke his fangs to know he was a vampire again.

Tom -- no, Voldemort, that hadn't been his Tom -- Voldemort could not have really just shot an _Avada Kedavra_ straight at him. He couldn't have, because Harry was alive. Alive… in a glass room. He _was_ alive, wasn't he? He felt alive. Harry reached down and jabbed his left thumb into the fleshy mount at the base of his right one. It hurt. He was alive, then, and likely awake to boot. But where was he?

He became aware of the voices first. Echoing and eerie, a chant just under the level of comprehension. Harry stirred finally and rose to a crouch, eyes trailing through the shadows outside the clear walls. He was distracted by the shifting of the shadows, the unnatural roiling of them. There was no way he was in reality, not with the living dark he was trapped in. He slid his hand along his thigh to check for his dagger, fingers wrapping around the hilt. He would break his way out of here if he had to.

The wind howled outside, sending slightly overgrown grass to sway outside around him. There was no door, not that Harry expected one. There were no seams that connected the walls, no discernible way that the room had been made. If not for the reflection of the portentous moon, he might not have realized he was in an enclosure at all.

The hand that wasn't holding his dagger clenched in the grass. The tips of his fingers dug into the dirt and prised a rock out, letting it settle in his palm and studying the translucent wall. The rock was larger than a pebble but still not very substantial, but it would have to do for the moment. The hum of the chant had yet to stop, and Harry felt his nerves becoming more taught with anticipation with every passing moment. Something was coming, lurking in the shadows thrown by the moon, and Harry refused to be caged when it arrived.

He flung the small rock with as much force as he could manage, a flick of his wrist adding to the momentum. The size wouldn't cause much damage if the glass was as thick as he imagined it to be, but it would at least give him an idea of its gauge.

He wasn't expecting the rebound.

Harry dove to the side, feeling the small rock graze his neck as he fell. A sharp clang and he was scrambling to the side again, trying to avoid the rock as it once again hurtled towards him. He managed this time, and was ready as it hit the original wall and sped back. He thanked his reflexes as his hand darted out, after the rock like it was a snitch, closing his fingers around it and cursing.

Blood seeped through his fingers almost immediately, enough to warn of deep injury but not enough to worry him. He had stopped the rock, but it had gathered enough speed to drill its way into his hand. Harry let out a string of obscenities as he let his hand fall open, dropping the dagger from his left hand and studying the damage to his right. The wound was smaller than a fifty pence coin, but the rock remained buried within it and blood continued slowly seeping out.

Harry glanced back up at the walls of his prison, glad that he hadn't thrown his dagger at the wall instead. But this presented a problem, surely. There was a barrier or shield charm worked into the walls, and Harry had to assume it would forcefully reflect anything that came in contact with it. He didn't particularly want to find out by trying something else. With the sharp burn of the rock still embedded in his palm, he thought that even a blade of grass might manage to impale him.

Harry racked his brain for his next move, but didn't get a chance to think very long before the shadows parted.

* * *

"You lie."

Tom had no other thought in his mind for that moment, utter stillness wrapping around him just before the maelstrom of emotions hit. But in that moment, there was no feeling within him but the dead assuredness that Pierce must be lying. It couldn't be right, he couldn't be honestly saying that Potter was a lost cause. Tom's mind could not even consider the idea as a possibility.

Pierce's face was stony as he turned away, voice toneless yet somehow tight. "I am not."

"Dumbledore is dead! How can Potter be forced to ask his forgiveness?!"

"It is not Dumbledore's forgiveness he must earn. He will be forced to regret every sin he has ever committed, every evil he has perpetuated. Whatever Dumbledore would have perceived as a crime, Mylläkkä must atone for, to himself and to the personifications formed in his mind. If he does not, he will remain in a painful purgatory until his psyche can take the anguish no more. And then, when he reaches that breaking point, his body will follow after."

"Potter is not so weak!" Tom was aware of a few sharp intakes of breath, but ignored them easily. "He will not succumb to such foolishness. He will not be ended by some false reality within his own mind. He will--"

"You speak as if it should be easy for him, Voldemort. It will not be. The longer he resists supplication the more he will be tortured with those things that plague him personally in the waking world."

The Granger girl had somehow wormed her way to his side, fingers twisting in her bushy curls. "Harry has made it through so much, I can't imagine him giving up now, Professor. We… we can't let him, don't you see?"

Tom sneered at the girl before shifting the look to Pierce, glaring malevolently up through his fringe. He rolled his wand between his thumb and pointer finger rhythmically, trying to dissuade himself from retorting. He was seventy years old, for Merlin's sake! Even discounting the thirteen years he had spent in incorporeal form, he was far past the point of this… foolishness.

But he couldn't deny the thickness in his throat, the rapid staccato of his pulse as it pounded behind his eyes. He had to check the urge to wipe his sweating palms against his robes, the action so juvenile he could hardly fathom it. He was _frightened_. Frightened for the first time in many years. Frightened because _Harry Potter_ might very well die.

Harry Potter. The bane of his existence for fifteen years, his mortal enemy and general thorn in his side. His happenstance partner in the war, his unlikely confidant. His bedmate, his lover. His loçkë.

He hated that he was so weak, that he had let himself be pulled into this disgusting humanity so far. He was better than that, _above that_, above feeling attachment and affection. And yet here he was, barely holding himself together in the face of losing Harry bloody Potter. He didn't know how he had managed to lose himself so deeply. He didn't know when things had changed from a conquering lust to whatever in the world it was now. But it had, and he was now irrevocably lost.

He had to respond now, dispel the smug look that had overtaken Pierce's eyes while Tom had been ruminating. As if the vampire knew where his thoughts had taken him. He likely did, Tom realized. He could probably hear his pulse rate and could deduct the reason for it. Pierce hadn't been very stealthy with his beliefs. He set his jaw and made to make use of his wand, tightened in the grip of his fist, when there was a knock at the door.

Tom turned his wand to the door and flicked it, sending the door crashing open to reveal Lucius Malfoy bowing at the waist with distress tightening his lips. "My lord, the Marquis Valerian is at the doors, and he requests an audience."

Tom would never in a million years admit to paling.

* * *

Harry had expected something like this in the back of his mind. It hadn't been a surety, but he had had the inkling of where the strange dream-like world might take him. But the reality of the situation was much harder to swallow, even as he clenched his uninjured fist.

If anyone was to appear, he would have assumed it to be these three. After all, with the history of Harry Potter's Fucked Up Life, who else would it be?

"Oh, Harry… what have you done?"

He averted his eyes as quickly as he could, breathing deeply to reign in any instinctive response to that voice. This wasn't real, _was not real_, so he couldn't let himself be sucked in.

A sob. "Harry, luv, please look at me."

He wouldn't. He refused to look, he couldn't stand the idea of turning his head. He refused to lower himself to playing into the whims of the world he found himself in.

"Look at your mother, Prongslet! I thought you were better than this!"

That voice made his head snap up, even if he had vowed not to. His mother, his father… they were very little to him in a real sense, and he was far too old to break down bawling because of phantoms. But that voice… one he had known, one he had loved, even if he had loved him for all the wrong reasons. "Sirius… ?"

Haunted gray eyes bore into him, and Harry fought the urge to flinch. He felt fifteen all over again as he stared into the eyes of the man he had lost. "How could you, Harry?"

"No son of mine would be such a disgrace."

Harry gritted his teeth and shook his head. The intentions of the Hallucination were coming clear now. Harry snorted around his grimace, turning his eyes from the familiar ones of his dead godfather and narrowing them at the man who he really had looked quite a bit like as a teen. "Sorry Father Dearest, can't say I'm thrilled to have a second-rate, bullying twat as my paternal figure myself." A stab of something wrenched his innards.

Sirius was growling, but James held up his hand and shook his head. "No, Sirius, let me. You dare to call yourself my son? We died for you, because of a prophecy hanging over _your_ head. And how do you repay us? How? You sleep with the man who murdered us! A fine choice that was." The tone was derisive, but Harry paid it no mind. He wouldn't have expected anything less from James Potter.

"I didn't do it for you or for anyone but me. I really couldn't care less what you think, James." Harry didn't wince, but he felt his abdominal muscles tense as pain set upon him once more. It wasn't severe, but it was enough to call his attention.

Dark eyes, indiscernibly colored, regarded him silently for long minutes. Harry stared back. When James spoke, Harry was surprised by the soft tone, the dejected slump to his shoulders. "I was proud, so proud. When I find out that we were having a child, I don't think I was even touching the ground for days. And then they did the spell and we found out it was going to be a boy. A boy! I was having a son, someone I could teach to fly, take to the World Cup, let use my wand when Lily wasn't looking.

"And then we had you, and I was scared to death. Suddenly having a child was a reality, something small and fragile and so dependent. Would I be a good influence? Would we be able to raise you to be a good, intelligent person? I would look down at you and see your mother's eyes… and I was so sure we would make it. Dark Lord or not, we would make it."

James's eyes were less unaffecting now, and Harry remembered a conversation from years ago with… who had said it? Lupin came to mind, but it might have been Dumbledore or perhaps even Sirius. One of them had told him of how his father had grown after leaving Hogwarts, but he hadn't understood until now. Still mocking, still derisive and petty… but underlying that Harry could see what had enticed his mother, what had caused the admiration of so many in this man. He was cocky surely, but he had gained some semblance of sense in the years in hiding, it seemed.

But no. Harry shook himself mentally and clenched his jaw. This was not James, this was not reality. He couldn't begin thinking this way.

James continued, more fiercely now. "And look at us now. Dead, dead for years, and left to watch our little boy's life from afar. As he grew up and then _ran away_. I don't care that you decided to become a bloody vampire, Harry; Remus should be proof of how little I care about creature status. I don't even care that you decided you didn't like Dumbledore, though that was a mistake if you ask me. But _fucking Voldemort_?! Joining up with the Death Eaters? You are no Potter, boy. You are no Gryffindor. No son of mine would be a filthy, murdering Death Eater."

Harry wanted to snarl, wanted to lunge at the man just to shut him up. But the pain came again and spread up to his chest, wrapping around his innards and squeezing. Harry jerked, but never removed his eyes from James, gritting his teeth and speaking through the pain the seized him. "I'd rather be where I am now than Dumbledore's pawn any day, James. You were not there for the life I have lived. You are nothing to me now, not since growing up and moving out of the shadow of the man I would never be."

"How dare you, Harry?" Sirius again, teeth bared ferally. He took a step forward, then another, until he was just beyond the glass, fingers clenched at his side. He glared at the glass for a moment and left his hands at his side, and Harry wondered if he feared the same rebounding result as Harry had experienced. He met Harry's eyes after a moment with his shoulders shaking. "How dare you after all we suffered for you?!"

* * *

The silence spell was still working on the hundreds of students that filled the Great Hall's tables, fingers clasped in those of their friends to convey the fear that lay thick amongst them. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named only feet away, the Light's hope discovered as a double agent, their leader dead on the floor barely hidden by the staff table. Many students wept in their seats, and even the Slytherins looked ill at ease with the events of the evening. It was too much too soon, too much of the adult world encroaching on their teenage serenity.

When the Death Eaters, robed and masked and silent in a line before the Hall's doors, parted suddenly, the attention of the entire room was turned towards them. The opening of the Antechamber's door went unnoticed as an unfamiliar face swept through the double doors.

Inky black hair reached down past his waist, eyes glowed citrine as the candlelight caught them. The mysterious man smiled charmingly to the students nearest to him as he swept in, sauntering down the middle aisle with hair swaying. The silencing spell kept any whispers from beginning, but the sudden spike of curiosity was thick in the room.

Another man was noticed now, tall and thin with cropped dark hair that grayed at the temples. He stood with a regal tilt to his chin and a menacing glare, arms crossed over his chest as the newcomer strode towards him. He had an air of vicious authority about him, even standing in the mundane surroundings of the Great Hall.

It didn't take long for the students to come back to themselves and recall the situation they were in. There was little good that could come of powerful men meeting in their Hall, and an even smaller chance that either was the type to be in awe of. But they knew they were helpless, even the brash Gryffindors. There was little to be done in their situation but sit and survive, or take action and die as their Headmaster had.

* * *

Hot anger coiled in Harry's stomach, dulling the pain that seemed to have rooted itself within him. "How dare I? Where do you get off trying to dictate my actions, Sirius? You were just as unhappy as I came to be, locked away as you were. You shouldn't have even been thrown into prison in the first place, let alone stayed there for over a decade! But you still stick up for Dumbledore, huh?"

"This isn't about me! This is about you turning your back on everyone who cared for you."

"I've done no such thing. I've chosen my own way in this damned war rather than blindly following after the hem of Dumbledore's robes. I didn't want to be a weapon, I didn't want to be used as cannon fodder! How can you blame me, Sirius?"

"Dumbledore is a good man, Harry. He is good and Light. I ran from the Dark because I knew the awful things they were capable of; I'd grown up with it my entire life! Do you think I ran for the fun of it?! I ran because they're all insane!"

"Insane now, am I? What next, will you blame me for your death now? Because surely the Boy Who Lived should have been able to know a dream from reality. I was their Chosen One, so I must have been expected to be extraordinary, right Sirius?" Harry knew how bitter he sounded.

"Shut up. You know damn well that I'd never blame you for that night, even if you'd not had a boatload of other things clouding your mind. Don't you dare try to turn me into the bad guy here, Prongslet!"

"Prongslet… another way for you to make me into James. Because that was all you wanted from me, wasn't it? You wanted another James. You didn't care that I was my own person, you just wanted me to be everything James was."

"I knew you were your own person!"

"Then why in the hell did you call me by his name?!"

Harry's breathing was coming fast and hard now, less from the steadily roaring pain in his chest and more from the emotional upheaval. He hadn't realized how bitter he still was over that moment. He tried to reign back his fury, but he had let himself believe in this delusion too much. He had fallen into the trap of the false reality, he knew, but he just couldn't stop. This looked like Sirius, sounded and acted just like him. And let him be damned if he wasn't finally getting the chance to get all of this off his chest. Harry strode forward, careful not to touch the wall but nearing the now frozen Sirius with a snarl.

"You missed him so much that you couldn't help but try to make me into him. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, right? You're a lot like Snape, you know."

Red was creeping up Sirius's neck in a dangerous way, and Harry swore he was frothing at the mouth. "I'd never be like Snivellus!"

"Then why did you think that I'd be just like James? Snape did too. From the moment he met me he assumed I was James's carbon copy in looks _and_ personality. That I was just as much of an arrogant little shit as he was. That I was the same cruel bastard James had been. And then you, Sirius. You wanted someone to relive the old days with, since Remus was too mild. You wanted someone to throw caution to the wind and do whatever bullshit you had planned."

"Remus! Don't even speak of him, Harry James Potter. Don't you even _dare_ to speak of him. I know what you did to Moony! Do you think I'd forgive you for that?"

Harry snorted and turned on his heel, refusing to look into Sirius's face any longer. "It was his own choice to be involved in the war. I gave him an out and he didn't take it."

"You tried to make him into what he hated!"

"No, I just wanted him to back off. I would have preferred him to be neutral. But he chose his fate, coward he was. He couldn't bear to take responsibility, to stand up for what he believed in. He would have let you rot for the rest of his life because he was so quick to believe the worst in you. He sat back while you tortured Snape in school. He sat back while my parents were killed, you were imprisoned, and while I was toted off to the bloody Dursleys. He would have sat back again while Dumbledore ruined the entire Wizarding world. I don't regret allowing him to die."

Silence resounded, the wind rustling through the grass highlighting the lack of voices. It was a long time before Sirius spoke again, and Harry refused to turn around even when his Godfather's voice came out raspy. Pain, both emotional and physical, seared him. He could hardly tell the difference between the two. But he refused to turn around and see the grief surely etched on Sirius's face.

"This was how you decided to deal? This was how you mourned me? By the gods, Harry, you became everything I hate." Sirius's breathing hitched, and Harry felt a part of him shatter. "I don't even know who you are."

* * *

Tom gritted his teeth as the vampire entered, seeming to bring a chorus of stupidity along with him. The students were staring as if this man had descended with a deity at his side, angels singing gaily to guide him forward. Tom had even caught a few of the girls pressing a hand to their hearts, a prime example of the fickleness of youth. Did they lose sight of the situation they were in so easily?

The Marquis Valerian halted before him, the smirk on his face far too casual for Tom's liking. An ostentatious bow later and golden eyes were boring into him. "Greetings, Lord Voldemort. I would like to know exactly why you have allowed my charge to come to harm."

Tom wasn't intimidated by the hardness of the tone, nor the falsely pleasant mask the vampire wore. Perhaps it worked on Valerian's subjects, but Tom was not so easily cowed. He straightened his back and smirked, eyebrow lifting. "I wasn't under the impression that Potter needed a keeper, sir Marquis. How foolish of me."

The vampire's smirk became more amused, more truly now than it had been. He leaned forward and put a finger to his lips, eyebrows quirking. "Keeper? No. But as his lover I would have hoped you had some modicum of sense and kept him safe, Lord Voldemort."

Perhaps, had Tom had been anyone else, color would have risen to his face with the loud proclamation. But as it was, he only tilted his head with a snort and ignored whatever reactions the silent hall might have had. "The mistakes and miscalculations Potter makes are his own. Allowing him to share my bed does not make me responsible for his actions."

"'Allowing'?" Valerian shook his head and tipped it to the side. "You've only become more of a fool, young Voldemort."

His wand was out, diplomacy be damned. He would curse the bloody vampire to the moon for being so condescending to him--

"V-Voldemort!"

He spun on his heel and glared, ready to curse the owner of the voice with all his might. He saw the Granger chit and his intent only became stronger, wand lifting. "Bad time, little girl."

"It's Harry. H-He's bleeding and he keep arching from the ground like he's in horrible pain, and I…"

Tom waited for nothing else, instantly running for the antechamber's door. He heard the clicking of feet behind him, but didn't bother looking to see who it was.

Harry's fingers were clawing at the ground, mouth open in a scream. Blood streaked the polished stone, more trailing behind the hand as it flailed. Tom grabbed the hand between his own, turning it over and grimacing. His nails were caked in dirt, and drying blood streaked all the way to his wrist. The wound was only perhaps two centimeters in diameter, but there seemed to be something lodged in it, making the wound seep blood even once the blood was drying.

Once the realization of the injury hit, the root of the problem presented itself. How had Potter gotten dirty and injured? He had had no such thing when Tom had arrived and there was no way anything within the Great Hall or its antechamber could have caused it. Tom turned and met Pierce's eyes as he stood beside the other vampire, talking quietly near the door. "What is happening to him?"

Pierce did not respond, and Tom knew he would easily get very angry with the secretive glances the two vampires kept exchanging. Valerian strode forward and leaned down, finger pulling at his lower lip as he studied Potter's unconscious form. "He's progressed farther in the spell than I thought. We don't have much time."

"Time for what, you annoying bloodsucker?"

Golden eyes narrowed on him seriously. "The only thing that can save Mylläkkä's life."

* * *

Harry's knees went weak in the face of the pain that consumed him, and he had to lock them to keep himself standing. The white-hot pain arched from his chest through his extremities, burning like fire in his veins. It tore his mind from the emotional ruin Sirius was causing and turned his thoughts inward, his breathing coming in gasps. What was wrong with him? Where was this pain coming from?

A hand rose and clenched below his sternum, where the pain seemed to be emanating from. He hadn't felt such pain since the last time one of Tom's Cruciatuses had managed to hit him. Perhaps it was not as intense, but it was enough to cause him difficulty.

He had no choice but to turn away from the pain when a sob reached his ears, his body turning to look before he could force it to remain still. His teeth gnashed together as he saw the woman stumbling towards him, eyes overflowing with tears as she watched him.

"Oh Merlin, Harry. Oh my sweet boy. How could you be forced through such trials?"

Harry took a step away from the glass and let his hand fall to his side, feeling the caked blood crack and sticky warmth signify that he had reopened the barely healing wound in his palm. Memories from the false world flooded him, memories of Lily's smile and her arms around him. He remembered so much still from that world, including the false memories of a happy childhood. She gave him a heartbreaking, shaky smile and raised her hands to ineffectually wipe at her eyes.

"You've made such horrible choices, Harry luv. I hate that you were left to make them on your own, that you had no guidance. If I could have one wish in this world, it would be to have been there by your side."

"I don't."

Green eyes, so like his own, froze on him. "You don't what?"

"I don't wish that."

She swallowed audibly, fingers falling from her eyes to rub at her throat. "You… you don't wish we could have been alive to be with you?"

Harry's toes curled as he became aware of a slight relief to the pain. Had he just gotten used to it? He exhaled. "I don't wish for change. The most intelligent man I know told me once that regrets were only for those too weak to take responsibility for their actions. Things would have been different, better maybe to some, but I am satisfied with how my life has turned out."

"You are satisfied being hated, rejected? You are satisfied being less than human?"

"I am," he said with a glare.

"I didn't mean it that way, luv." She came forward more, gently pushing on Sirius's chest as she came alongside of him.

Sirius set his feet and met her eyes. "Don't, Lily. He's beyond hope right now."

"Sirius Orion," said Lily, "I am Harry's mother, and I can damn well decide for myself when hope is lost. Now get back to James before I kick your sorry arse into next week!"

Sirius's jaw tensed, but with a glare to the ground he turned and walked back towards where James watched on in silence. James shook his head at something Sirius whispered, and with a huff he transformed into Padfoot, sulking in the grass.

Lily turned back to Harry and placed her hand on the glass, her lip between her teeth. Harry jerked as he realized she hadn't been repelled. "Voldemort told you that, didn't he?"

"And if he did?"

Her fingers spasmed. "He was wrong."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "No, he wasn't. I wouldn't be who I was without my experiences. I don't have any wish to change things now, not when I've finally gotten to realize that."

"Regrets are human, Harry. We all do things we wish we hadn't, have things thrown at us that we wish we could change."

"It is a good thing I'm not human then, isn't it?"

Lily took in a shaking breath and leaned forward, forehead pressing into the glass. "Harry -- oh, Harry. Humanity isn't a state of your body, it is the state of your mind."

"Maybe," Harry said, closing his eyes. He gripped control with all he had, recalling his earlier assertion. This was not real, these people were not real, and he couldn't let himself listen to their pleading. He needed to stop himself from being affected by these words, hold back the sick twisting of guilt that had begun to gnaw at him. This felt so real, the personalities as he had imagined them to be, the tones of voice and the reactions… just as he had always imagined as he'd grown, as he'd chosen his own path. But they were not real. Harry knew this with every ounce of him. This wasn't real, and he wouldn't concede defeat to some spell or dream.

The chanting that Harry had thought had faded away came back fiercely, and Harry was again seized with unimaginable pain. He was taken by surprise and muffled a shout, hands clamping to his chest. It burnt more fiercely than it had the last time, intense and roaring. This was at least as bad as Cruciatus, and Harry was barely able to stay standing.

Arms wrapped around him, soothing and warm. Harry froze in place. The arms were pale and lightly freckled, leading down to fine-boned fingers with lacquered nails. Against his will his own hand rose to lay over the foreign one.

"Luv… oh, Harry…"

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry was screaming with questions. How had Lily gotten though the glass? Why was she touching him? But those thoughts were drowned with an overwhelming relief as her touch seemed to drive away the agony, rendering him almost limp in her arms. She was stronger than she appeared, because after a small stumble she held him fast, face buried in his hair and making shushing noises into his ear.

"Hush, luv. It is alright, Mummy is here. Mummy would never have let you go through all that, never. Nothing will hurt you so long as Mummy is with you."

Shuddering breaths, and Harry tried to regain himself. White spots still danced in front of his eyes from the breath-stealing pain, and Harry was reminded of using the Reversion potion while being Cruciated. He came back to himself at a snail's pace, but pulled out of the arms and turned towards Lily. "I don't need to be coddled."

The pain left his limbs feeling dead and numb, and Harry was having serious problems standing. But he wouldn't show it, not with James and Sirius standing near the shadows and watching his every move. Lily shook her head. "You've grown up with so little contact, I suppose it is no wonder that you clung to the first people who wanted to touch you."

Harry bit his tongue to keep back his automatic denial, knowing it would only strengthen her argument.

"But Voldemort, Harry? Why him? Why him of all people?"

"Because…" he stopped and looked away, jaw tight.

"Because?"

Lily didn't see him move. She just had time to gasp as Harry's hands wrapped around her neck, thumbs pressing into the hollow at the base of her throat. Her knees went out quickly, and Harry snarled down at her as she dangled in his grip. "It is none of your damned business." The pain surged back as strong as ever.

"Lily!"

"Get your filthy hands off my wife!"

Harry turned his head and hissed at the two men that were running towards them. James's control broke; he lunged forward, fists raised to pound at the enclosure. The force in which James was thrown back was shocking enough to make Harry's grip loosen on Lily's neck

She broke away before he could reaffirm his grip, dropping to her knees and coughing. Sirius had run to James's side by now, and Harry turned to glare down at his fictitious mother, flexing his damaged hand. He saw blood smeared across her throat and refused to wince.

She turned her eyes up, watery and heavy lidded, and Harry couldn't breathe when she smiled. It was the most heartbreaking expression he had ever seen, lips wobbling as her breathing ran ragged.

"You've sinned so much, Harry. You've killed, you've tortured, you've broken people. You took pleasure in pain, you betrayed those who love you. You destroyed the hopes of so many, and you didn't look back. Sodomy and murder and hatred and so many things…"

Harry raised his hand, determined to end this charade. He was wearing thin between the physical anguish and the see-sawing emotions. He couldn't keep this up, he couldn't. Harry's head was steadily feeling more like a battlefield; emotions waged war on one another and left his head with the feeling of being fired upon. The pounding in his temples reached a crescendo as the roaring pain in his chest reached a peak, and the world went white around the edges.

* * *

Hermione left Neville in the Great Hall to keep an eye on things, not liking the unfair advantage the Death Eaters had over the students. Silenced and frightened, the teens could do little but sit and weep. They were too easy of prey, especially once Hermione had glimpsed Bellatrix's uncovered head amongst the group. Neville was much stronger than anyone gave him credit for, and she knew he would be able to protect them long enough for her to join him. He was sure to keep a wide berth around Ron, though, who sat with a dark look on his face as if he was ready to kill. And perhaps he was, but now was not the time to worry about her childhood friendships.

Anger twisted in her gut, and she pushed it down as well as she could. Without Harry to intervene, the last thing she needed was to lose control. The very last thing. She would be able to kill half the student body before one of the few people capable of non-verbal spells managed to fell her, she thought. She knew her intelligence and the ferocity she vaguely remembered of her other side combined would be a dangerous thing.

Making her way back to the antechamber, hope shone again in the form of simple words spoken by a tall man she had never seen before this evening. Even without knowing him, the concern with which he treated Harry made her feel some form of comfort towards him, even if she didn't trust him in the slightest. She approached and pushed herself into the conversation, just like she was good at. "You say that you know how to save Harry. Please, sir, what can we do?"

He looked down at her, and Hermione suppressed a shiver. His eyes were practically incandescent! Another vampire, she had to assume. Professor Pierce seemed deferent to him, lowering his eyes when addressed and bowing lightly. He must be important. Hermione drew herself to her full height, attempting to make herself feel less low on the food chain.

After a long, contemplative look, a smile broke out on the vampire's face, and he bowed low while seizing her hand. "Miss Granger, I presume? Mylläkkä told me much about you. You are just as I imagined you to be. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am the Marquis Valerian, Lord of the Shadowed Realm. It is a pity this meeting it not under more pleasant circumstances." He placed a kiss to her inner wrist, and Hermione fought back the girlish part of her that swooned just a bit, until what he had said caught up with her.

Her mind spun as she allowed all the pieces to fall into place. Valerian, the one Harry had told her about. Valerian, the Vampire Marquis. It made sense, really. She stuffed the thoughts into the back of her mind and bowed as formally as she could, thought she was sure she looked horribly awkward. "A p-pleasure to meet you. Harry told me a lot about you." She rose and looked up into his eyes, worrying her lip between her teeth. "Sir, how can we save him? I'll do anything…"

Valerian turned his eyes toward where Voldemort still knelt by Harry's side, strange elongated fingers wrapped around Harry's wrist. With a hum the vampire stepped forward until he hovered over Harry. "It depends on how much you are all willing to give. It will take a lot more than some of you," Hermione couldn't see his eyes, but she was sure by the look on Voldemort's face that Valerian had given a look to him, "would give normally. It will come down to just how much you care for Mylläkkä." Valerian spun around with his hair fanning around him, charming grin once more in place. "Will you be able to give your all, Miss Granger?"

"Without a doubt," said Hermione. She kept her back ramrod straight and took a deep breath. "I would give my life if I knew it meant him being okay, sir."

"Gryffindors."

Hermione turned her eyes to Voldemort and watched as he stood, brushing the dust from his robes. Red eyes swept over her and Hermione shuddered. She accepted Harry's choices and didn't look down on him for them, but she didn't know how he could handle those eyes on him all the time, in intimate moments. They were… were… demonic, somehow.

"Ah, this should be amusing. More prattling from you, Lord Voldemort?"

"Only a Gryffindor would lay down their life for someone else. Slytherins know better."

Hermione felt like an outsider suddenly as the two powerful men faced one another in the dark room. Power was beginning to buzz all around them as tension built, making the air feel thick and murky. Hermione breathed slowly to stay calm.

A hum and a smirk from Valerian, no longer charming and now seeming sharp at the edges. "You mean to say that Slytherins care less for their loved ones, then?"

"No. I mean to say that Slytherins are not so foolish as to think that giving their life would ever make a difference."

She took a step to the side, unconsciously nearing her Defense professor, and didn't recoil when she felt a cool touch to the back of her neck. She was thankful for the reminder of not being alone with these powerful beings. Even as she knew that Professor Pierce, surely, was frighteningly powerful in his own right, she had rarely seen him be anything less than perfectly placid. The raging emotions that she could barely control were soothed by it.

"Ah, and here I thought you had no idea what love even was."

Voldemort sneered, teeth bared. "I have no use for such a paltry dalliance like _love_."

Hermione nearly ran into Professor Pierce as she took a step back, seeing rage ignite Voldemort's eyes.

"Oh, you cannot move, dear Voldemort? Apologies, but you're being a foolish little thing, and I just cannot stand people in denial."

"Vampire, release me this instant!"

"And then what?" Valerian's head fell to the side, sending his hair swooping down in a curtain. "You will only continue in your foolishness. You will only perpetuate your sorry lies. That will get us nowhere. Miss Granger, I believe you should leave now, as I need to have a chat with Lord Voldemort."

Hermione's fingers clenched and unclenched, the curious part of her wanting to stay, but the rest of her not wanting to be in the room when the two powerful figures clashed. She heaved a sigh and ran for the closed door, slipping out of it as quickly as possible.

* * *

Harry was too far gone to flinch at the look in identical green eyes, threading his fingers through auburn hair and tilting Lily's head back. A tear rolled down her cheek as he brought his other hand down, convulsing fingers sliding to wrap around her throat.

"No matter how I feel about your choices, Harry… your life is your own." Her voice was little more than a whisper, eyes glowing in the moonlight much like his own preternatural ones. His hands were shaking, and he didn't know why. The quiver to her voice entranced him. "I love you Harry, more than anyone else ever could. Even if you took the wrong path… I love you just the same. No matter the blood on your hands, or the person you love. I love you, Harry."

It was like the world had stopped. No longer did the ominous chanting fill his ears, no more did the shadows roil and deepen. Sirius and James were silent and still and the faint breeze that had been tickling the long grass died, leaving Harry staring down at Lily's heartrending smile. That the pain had miraculously abated was hardly a matter in his mind. Even the numbness that slowly permeated his limbs went unnoticed. Tear-tracks across his mother's face glistened in the stark white light of the moon, and Harry found that breathing was an impossibility.

A joint popped when his knees hit the ground. Still the world seemed frozen, no sound but the harshness of his pulse. No movement but the slow rolling tear that escaped one of Lily's eyes and made its way to her jaw line.

He hadn't even realized that he'd released her hair, only noticing when his head fell down, staring at his upturned hands. Love. She loved him, despite all he had done. She loved him, even when he had killed and tortured. She loved him, unconditionally.

He didn't recognize the constricted feeling in his throat for what it was, the burning around his eyes and nose. As the first teardrop fell into his hands, it took Harry several long moments to realize that it had come from him. He hadn't cried in years, _years_, so long ago that he couldn't honestly remember it. His first year in Hogwarts, maybe? He looked up, meeting his mother's eyes, disregarding the tears he could still feel rolling indolently from his lashes. "Mum…"

She crawled forward across the meager space between them, hands raising to cup Harry's face. A fog was slowly creeping over his senses, clouding his mind. He didn't jerk away as her cool palms slid across his cheeks, didn't feel awkward as leaned forward to gently kiss each of his eyes. His hands fell to his sides to rest in the overgrown grass. It was cool and slightly damp, night's dew settling over it even through the enclosure's walls. Harry didn't question this.

He leaned into Lily's touch with a vacant stare, letting his head fall to her shoulder as she guided him there. "Hush, luv. I'll make sure nothing hurts you again. You won't ever have to hurt again, never fear rejection or heartbreak. You won't have to fear a wrong step with that lover of yours, or the thoughts your friends harbor when you turn your back. I'll not let pain touch you ever again. And luv, my Harry… all you have to do is repent."

Harry felt himself nod.

* * *

The force of the vampire's magic held Tom immobile, and he wished vehemently to be able to shove his wand down the Marquis's throat. He felt as if someone was sitting upon his chest, crushing his ribcage and suffocating him with every breath he was forced to take.

Tom forced his tongue to work, his mouth to move. "You have no right to do this to me--"

"You are right to be angry. You are a powerful man, Voldemort, but power will never be everything. I have a very hearty advantage over you with my blood magic. But you are very young yet, and you have yet to learn the limits of power alone. I have power. I have more power than I will ever have use for. You think this brings happiness? Serenity?" The vampire gave a mocking smile, leaning forward.

"No, Lord Voldemort," Valerian continued, "Power is but a tool. Power is not the answer to every question. I have the power to move through time, but how has it served me? I am bound not to meddle in the affairs of mortals. Even young Mylläkkä… for this I will be punished, because I have used my powers to change the inevitable, to prevent his death. Can you imagine what power brings me? I am expected to sit idly by as people die, no matter their connection to me. If I had obeyed my limitations, your lover would be dead."

Tom stayed mulish, jaw set and crimson eyes gleaming. He was no fool.

Valerian shook his head slowly, encroaching on Tom's personal space. It was oddly nonsexual for the flamboyant vampire, the folds of his jacket brushing Tom's chest and his hair falling to tease his arms. Tom had a flash of similar long, dark hair curtained around him. He shook the thought away as Valerian spoke, serious and quiet. "Does your pride really extend so far? Would you see him die because of your foolish arrogance? I see myself in you, young Voldemort. I see the man I once was. I pray that you do not make the same mistakes I did."

"You presume much, sir Marquis," Tom murmured, throat constricting as the spell clamped around it.

"Mmm, it is what I do best," said Valerian, golden eyes narrowing on Tom. "I give him to you, but you will not take advantage of this gift. You will not stay in your delusions of detachment, and you will not continue to deny him. It would be a mistake to do so, and I will not see him harmed for it."

Golden eyes widened as a wand was pressed hard into his throat, Tom Riddle's gaze firm on his own. "Potter is no gift to be given, Vampire. And I won't have you dictate my affairs. Lord you may be, but this is not your realm, and I am not your subordinate."

"So bold, Voldemort. But can you back your claims?"

"You have no clue what I can do." Tom's eyes were blank, expression vaguely sardonic. But inside he churned with anger at the impudence the vampire had displayed, the brazen _ordering_ of him, Lord Voldemort! …But he was being irrational. He had to remember that the vampire was a lord in his own right, and had been such for much longer. It gave him little right to treat him in such a way, but Tom swallowed down his resentment and settled for gazing unflinchingly into Valerian's eyes.

"I assure you that it would not be anything I have not seen before."

"I care very little for what Potter might think of you, and I would very happily send your realm into chaos with your death, but I would rather maintain diplomatic relations."

Valerian smirked widely. "I am surprised you have lived so long with such an attitude. Thankfully for you, though, I care very much for what Mylläkkä thinks. But I will not overstay my welcome. You have been warned and Dante knows what must be done. Now is the time to dispel your petty neurosis about admitting you are human."

Tom made to retort, but the vampire was already spinning away and striding towards Pierce, hips swaying outrageously. Tom's jaw tightened, but he refused to fall into Valerian's trap and react. He would not be made a spectacle of, even without an audience.

Instead, Tom turned towards the door and ignored the room's occupants, striding out into the Great Hall and towards the head table, grimacing a bit at the sight of Dumbledore's corpse before focusing on his long-time operative. "Minnie?"

Minerva stood immediately and hastened to his side, dropping to her knees in supplication. "Yes, my lord?"

"See that any untrustworthy vermin are rendered impotent, and see that the children use the facilities and change. It is beginning to smell like a hospice in here. They shall be escorted in small groups to do so under the watch of no less than three adults at a time. I want no chance of one sneaking off to send a letter or escape altogether. Until the situation with Potter is sorted, I want the school to be on lockdown within the hall, so see to having the professors create accommodations."

"Of course, my lord. Should I confiscate wands?"

"It would be best, though any that are known loyals need not have their wands taken."

"I will go about this immediately, my lord." Minerva stood and straightened her robes primly, nose turning up as she gazed out at the terrorized students.

"Oh, and Minnie? Do have someone clear away the dearly deceased Headmaster. He is distressing the children."

A sweeping bow and Minerva McGonagall was hurrying away, snapping out orders. Tom cocked his head lightly and considered leaving her permanently in the position as Headmistress. She was the most obvious choice, and was familiar with the students and the workings of the school. But this was not the time to worry about such a thing.

He made his way back to the side room with a scowl, straightening his back. He needed to know what was to be done, and he wanted it done as soon as possible. Potter was mucking things up right now, and the sooner he woke up the better.

* * *

"Where there is light, the answer will always be illuminated. Where there is goodness, justice can always be done. Where there is hope, even the darkest of shadows may be eradicated."

Harry's first thought, inane though it was, was that the meddling old bastard had managed to avoid the Killing Curse. It figured. But the thought was light, whispering, skittering dully on the edges of his mind and never really reaching the conscious edge of realization or knowledge. That he was no longer in the glass room, no longer _anywhere,_ was inconsequential. The lack of Lily's arms around him was nearly painful but that, too, faded quickly.

"Light forever conquers Dark, an endless stream in history. Don't you see, Harry? Integrity and justice always win. Greed, megalomania, massacre… they always fall under the mighty power of Light's inherent truth. Did you really think it could be any other way? You should have known better, my boy."

His head was heavy, and it would be too much effort to pick it up and look towards the man, even as he felt the insatiable need to cock his head in curiosity.

"What did you hope to find there? Family? Acceptance? You should have known, Harry, that there was no such thing to be found there. Your friends, your true friends… we were here all along. You made a bad decision my boy, but it is not too late to change it. Make it better. Do you think you can do that?"

Still he couldn't move, leaden weights attached to his every atom. Something deep inside of his mind screamed in denial. It railed at the old man, enraged words that held no coherence for Harry in his current state. Dumbledore's voice was the only one he could listen to, the only one that mattered. It was obvious, wasn't it?

"You are a good boy at heart. I know you are. You fought Voldemort for so long, so hard. He killed your parents, took away your chance at a normal life. You hated him for that, didn't you? You hated him for condemning you to your existence as it was, fated to be mistreated, hated. In the spotlight, forever fluctuating between revered and loathed. And you hated him. Right, Harry?"

A slow nod, more of a slow rise of his head and then gravity taking over, but it was enough to bring a warm tone to Dumbledore's voice.

"Ah, my boy. You are so close to understanding. The Dark is wrong, Harry. They are cruel, horrid people, bent on dominating all you hold dear. Can you really stand by and let such a thing happen? You hated Voldemort, remember? You hate him still. You worked by his side, but surely you hate him still. Right, my boy? Of course…"

The screaming in his mind rose in pitch, the rage transforming to something like panic as it drowned out Dumbledore's voice. Fear gripped at his mind and for a moment Harry had the strength to blink, eyes staring at the formless ground. "No… I love."

Dumbledore stopped speaking, a silence passing over them. "What was that? I don't believe I heard you."

"I…" What had he been saying again? Voldemort. Who he hated. Harry's eyes blinked more forcefully, and he felt his fingers spasm. No… Voldemort who he _had_ hated. Voldemort, his Tom… "Love. No hate. Love."

Pain. His hair was grasped hard, and Harry felt like he should cry out. He… didn't like his hair pulled, did he? No. No he did not. But the urge to yell was lost to the fog that was suffocating him, pulled away even as his head was tilted back and he was staring into an age-lined face, blue eyes narrowed and angry. Had he seen those eyes this way before? Not much, and not in quite a long time. But why was he so angry?

"Love? You are so far gone that you think you _love_ Tom?" The voice was at odds with the angry eyes, soft and understanding.

Harry stared blankly up. He felt like sleeping, falling. He was dead weight in the man's grip, and staring with unblinking eyes was the most he could summon at the moment. Those eyes softened just a bit, dropping Harry back to lie down, leaving him staring into the endless, amorphous white.

"You really believe these delusions, don't you my boy? Poor, sweet Harry. You were so taken in by that monster. No one can love something so inhuman. You cannot. Something like Tom is incapable of love, incapable of caring. He is soulless, heartless. He thinks of his own power and how to expand it, his own life and how to keep it from ending. He does not have the capacity to care for another being, my boy. Surely you know this?"

A snarl of rage on reptilian features, curses falling in a litany from a lipless mouth. The feel of a hand against his neck, crushing, demonic teeth bared in a snarl. Cruelly handsome features sneering, mocking, enjoying the pain inflicted. Extensive condemnations, hard smile and eyes staring into Harry…

He gasped, body trembling. He heard a low sound of sadness from Dumbledore. "I know, my boy. It hurts, does it not? The truth often does. But it something you need to face if you are to be cured. Whatever you thought you had with Tom was a lie. But it is alright, Harry. I am here to save you, don't you see? I will allow you to start anew, forget all the awfulness you must have had to endure. Come, my boy, all you have to do is say the right words."

Harry opened his mouth, ready to say whatever words he needed to, anything to escape the claws rending his heart. While before he could feel nothing, now he could not stop feeling. The pain was magnified tenfold, it seemed, and had he not been lying down already, Harry was sure he could have collapsed from the strain. He had to say something, something to stop the pain. Anything to make his world stop collapsing, his emotions from bleeding into his chest.

"I'm…" Harry paused to gasp for breath, the thick feeling in his throat constricting.

"Yes? Yes, young Harry?" the voice was eager, dark and coercing. But Harry paid it no mind.

"I'm…" another pause, this time from a more immediate pain. The screaming was back, this time accompanied by images. Crimson eyes, inches from his own and glazed in passion. The feel of even breathing against the back of his neck, a low rumble and tightening of arms if he shifted away. The light of a smile playing across handsome features, of long fingers reaching out to grip the back of his neck and pull him forward, teeth tugging at Harry's lower lip. The sound of startled laughter, choppy from disuse. The look on cruelly handsome features when irritated but putting up with it because he was Harry. The halting cadence of a dark voice when trying to be understanding, failing miserably or not.

And the white world turned black. "I'm in love with Tom Riddle," he rasped, feral grin pulling at his lips. "And I would never let you defeat me so easily, Dumbledore."

The darkness took Harry away.

* * *

"Well, isn't this just wonderful: stuck as babysitter to a bunch of brainless Gryffindors."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, belt up Malfoy. You aren't babysitting anyone."

"Like hell I'm not. I'd much rather be finishing my dinner right now."

Hermione tapped her wand against her forearm, eye ticking the barest bit. "You are inconceivably supercilious."

"And you're ugly."

Her lip curled and her eyes narrowed. "I pity you for being unable to engage in an argument without being a petty bitch."

"Bitch?!"

She was quite surprised when Neville stepped between them, broad shoulders squared. "M-Malfoy, back off. Without Harry up and about, do you really want to set her off again?"

Hermione wanted to hug Neville as Malfoy paled, and she relished in the vindictive pleasure that spread through her. The pointy little ferret deserved the dig, incorrigible arse he was. She let a smug grin flit over her face, and Malfoy's nose tipped predictably upwards. "Whatever, you gits. I'm only here to be sure none of your lot attempt any," his sneer was disgusted, "_heroics_."

"Don't you think that Voldemort could very well handle that on his own, if it came down to that?"

Even without sound, Hermione was aware of the way people flinched and sucked in breaths. Even with all that had gone on that day, the sound of his _name_ still sent them into a fright. She shook her head with a sigh.

"Why yes, I would think _Voldemort_ could indeed take care of himself."

Hermione squeaked and spun, lips tightening at scowling man, even as her stomach dropped. No matter her recriminations towards the students, Voldemort just scared the life out of her. "Apologies, err, sir."

Demonic eyes rolled and he sneered as the Gryffindor students who edged away. "Great bravery from the lions, I see. Granger, a word."

Her heart wouldn't stop pounding and had she not possessed the intelligence to know otherwise, Hermione might have imagined it would explode. She nodded when her tongue refused to work, scurrying behind the long strides of the Dark Lord as he led her to the corner of the hall.

His wand came out and Hermione flinched, much to the obvious amusement of Voldemort and to her own chagrin. With a silencing spell in place, he looked her over with a sneer. "Listen, girl. Potter obviously thinks highly of your mental processes, so I will make this quick. There will be a ritual taking place at the highest peak of the moon, one requiring polar points of relations for Potter. A confidant and a skeptic, a friend and an enemy, and one who loves and one who hates. We need the roles filled by this eve."

This was about Harry. Hermione breathed and summoned everything that had put her in Gryffindor. "You have decided some of the roles, I assume?"

The sneer darkened frightfully. "The Marquis has placed Pierce as the confidant. Beyond that he has only named you as the friend. Your devotion is what led him to insist upon you."

Hermione swelled with happiness and nodded. "So it is dependent on the casters, not Harry himself?"

"No. This spell is based in emotion and in the binds of attachment, requiring the force of the emotions of others to make it succeed. You are the purest in your emotion towards Potter, though perhaps not the closest to him."

"We require, then, a skeptic, an enemy, and one who hates, then? Hmm, the negatives."

"You would understand your fellow students far better than I. I certainly have no inkling."

"You will take on the role of the one who loves, then?"

She knew it was a mistake even as the words left her mouth, and her screams echoed against the silencing barrier as she was hit with a Cruciatus before she would even inhale. Oh gods it hurt, worse than she had ever imagined. It felt as if her insides were tearing apart and reforming wrongly, only to be forced to shreds again.

It was released more quickly than she might have imagined, and she couldn't breath even to recover when crimson eyes leaned near to her, close enough to fill her vision. "Disgusting little mudblood, you seem to forget your boundaries. Speak out of line like that again and I will not hesitate to strike you down."

With a harsh slash of his wand, Voldemort removed the privacy spells and stalked away. But Hermione felt as if a victory had been won. For one thing, he hadn't bothered denying his place in the formation. For another, no matter what he might think, he had hesitated in killing her already; most would have been killed for the transgression. She was sure that Harry had influenced him far more than he would ever admit.

She shakily pushed her way to her feet and stumbled back to the Gryffindor table, ignoring the way hundreds of sets of eyes followed her. Years of being Harry Potter's friend left you used to it. She looked at Malfoy's ashen complexion and Neville's anxious face and tried to smile. "I'm fine."

"What did you say to him, you idiot?! Merlin's balls, Granger, but you've got enough stupidity to keep Gryffindor afloat for a unicorn's age!"

She scowled but let the comments roll off, strangely calmed by her knowledge of Harry's salvation. She couldn't fall apart now. She was _needed_. "I merely pointed out something that Voldemort is already aware of, not that he wanted to be told it."

A hand was laid onto her shoulder, and Hermione turned to meet exceptionally pale blue eyes, soft and smiling. Luna made a hand motion towards Hermione, a universal sign asking if she was alright.

She nodded. "I'm fine. It…" she paused and shifted, the twinges of pain not yet subsided. "It hurts, but there are more important things."

A long look from large eyes, before a subtle hand motion was directed down the Gryffindor table. Hermione turned out of reaction, but she didn't need to. She knew what Luna was trying to ask, and the sight of a bowed red head only sent a lance of pain through her heart. "I don't know. Ron is very, very upset. I… Harry knew this would happen. He didn't want to lose anyone, but he knew it was likely to be the way of things. I made my choice when I stayed by Harry's side."

"W-Well, maybe it will be okay, Hermione. Maybe… maybe he'll understand. We all did, after all."

She gave Neville a sad smile. "It is a nice thought, but it just isn't likely. Ron is too set in his ways."

"Salazar help me, but I've been thrown into the middle of a Gryffindor love session. Would you three cut the crap?"

Luna gave a dreamy smile, and Neville translated. "Luna isn't a Gryffindor, she's a Ravenclaw."

"And nutters to boot."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Hermione said with heavy exasperation.

Another hand motion, the smile on Luna's face showing her entertainment with the situation. This one was expansive, floating around the room before coming back to point at her throat.

"Hmm, I don't know. Perhaps we can convince Voldemort to release everyone from the spell if things go well."

"'If things go well'? Is there news about Harry?"

Hermione sighed and looked into Neville's eyes, a tight smile on her lips. "We have hope, and that's the best we can ask for. But I'm going to need your help. All of your help."

She ignored Malfoy's silent fuming and quickly set about filling Neville and Luna in on the situation, unsure as to the outcome. But she would succeed, no matter what it took.

* * *

The consuming darkness had returned to him, welcoming him back into the arms of serenity. Now he knew, oh he knew the truth. He knew the altruistic darkness was but a fantasy. Still he relished in the freedom given, the loss of the burning anger and roiling emotions. He breathed in the abyss.

In. Out. In. Out.

"Angel?"

Harry turned as well as he could, body lolling back towards the voice. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing there. "Hmm?"

"I am glad you are more lucid this time. We need to speak, child of Mawu."

"Mmm…"

"The time is here. You made no choice, Angel, so it will be worse and worse. And you will survive, even when you least want to. Oh, Angel, death would have been kinder…"

Harry struggled to find his voice, unseeing eyes blinking in a lazy droop. "Huh?"

"Oh, Angel… there are none so blind as those who refuse to see. Shall we endeavor to awaken truth in the heart of your chosen?"

Before the question had even registered, Harry's chest exploded into agony.

* * *

As usual, a huge thank you to all of my readers, reviewing or not. You all keep me going, and I will **never, ever** abandon this. Come hell or high water, this damned thing will be done.

A special thank you to Purple Uranium, who I just now realized I may never have replied to, for her absolutely breath-stealing review. Though I now doubt that I ever wrote to express my gratitude, that review is what got me writing 7k of this 12k chapter.

Revised: 3/21/09


	37. Interlude: Lacuna

Disclaimer: I does not own. I does not want to. Would be shite if I owned. XD

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

Tiny break to get some outside perspective on the situation. 5k on a whim in a few hours... proud of me yet? ;)

* * *

**Paraselenic**

Interlude _- Lacuna // a gap or place where something is missing_

* * *

M

His eyes were burning, even hours after the fact. He was quite sure they were bloodshot and irritated, but it didn't stop the tears from filming over them, not falling -- _he was a man, he would not cry, no matter the pain _-- but serving to irritate him more. His fingers shook in his vision, clouded though it was, unable to stop even with the passing of adrenaline.

Y

Numbness had left him some time ago, replaced with an all consuming rage that had no direction, no recourse. He'd wanted to shout, scream in denial. That had been taken away from him. He had had the urge to throttle whomever came close to him, wrap his hands around someone's neck -- _Colin's neck was thin and girlie, he bet he could wrap his hands fully around it without any effort _-- and collapse their windpipe. He'd wanted to tear at his hair and rip apart his scalp, anything to distract from the insurmountable truth.

L

But he hadn't. He wasn't sure why he hadn't given into the urges that had incinerated his mind. There had been opportunity before his wand had been taken -- _McGonagall? _Honestly_? _-- but he hadn't. He'd glowered at his hands, impotent in his wrath. Hating everything. Not understanding what had gone wrong. The logic didn't fall into place. Rooks cannot move diagonally, Kings cannot be demoted to Pawns and taken from the board. A white piece cannot be changed to black mid-game.

L

Now… now it hurt. It hurt more than anything had ever hurt in his life. No physical pain compared even the tiniest bit, no jealousy or anger could come close. This, he thought, must have been what people called -- _Hell, like the muggles used to think wizards came from, horrible pain and endless agony _-- devastation. He felt like his world had been pulled out from under him, replaced by some strange alternate reality. Down and up still remained in their respective places, but nothing else made sense. It couldn't. How could this _ever_ make sense?

A

Harry. Rash, heroic, but inerrably kind. Whether it was a friend in mortal danger or a mouse Crookshanks had gotten his claws on, Harry had always been the savior. Somehow more than the rest of them -- _head thrown back with fire igniting his eyes in fierce luminescence, refusing to back down_ -- on a higher plane of existence. Too old for his age, too jaded and defeated. Hell, if even _he'd_ managed to notice it, it must have been obvious. Harry was just… Harry. Snappish at times, faltering and losing hope, but never losing his stride. Harry was the King of the board. To be kept safe no matter the sacrifices needed to keep him that way.

K

But oh, he had never seen something like this. In the months before when he had expected something wrong, he had expected something huge. He'd known it would be bad… but what was a year at Hogwarts without something bad happening? Whether it was an insane Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher or Voldemort hatching another plot, there was always something -- _the eyes of a werewolf as it bore down on him, the rage contorting Lucius Malfoy's face as they defied him in the Department of Mysteries _-- when you were closely tied to Harry Potter. It was nearly routine!

K

But not this. Merlin, no, not this. This was like hairline fractures spreading on a world of glass, the world crumbling to pieces before his eyes. There was nothing to do but await the end once the cracks had started, no way to revert. And he knew it couldn't be mended. But why -- _why, why, why, why, __**why**__?!_ -- did it have to be Harry? How could it possibly be Harry? They'd gone through so much, survived impossible odds. How had things turned out this way?

A

But they had. Oh, they had, and Ron could do nothing but see the world fall to pieces around him. With one word spelled in cheerful orange light, with one stupid spell -- _it was a joke, meant to be a laugh; __**why wasn't it funny?!**_-- his world was no longer the same. The white King had flipped black and replaced the Queen, Pawns had become Knights and Rooks were deviating from their intended track. How could everything go so wrong? How could he not have _known?!_

He'd been called oblivious enough times by Hermione, stupid by Slytherins, thick by Snape. But Ron knew he was more than that. He'd grown, damnit, and he should have known something was wrong. But he hadn't. He hadn't seen the way his friends had obviously been growing away from him. He'd not known that Harry was a fucking Dark Lord, for Merlin's sake! How could he have missed that, even as Hermione had followed along behind him, if Voldemort's addressing of her and her acceptance of it was any indication. Neville! _Neville _had known! How could Ron call himself Harry's best friend when he hadn't known?

Was he so unimportant?

Questions buzzed back and forth in his mind like a displaces hive of bees, growing more insistent and loud with every minute that passed. What in the name of all that was Light could have made Harry join Voldemort? There had to be so much more behind this than there appeared to be. There just had to be. Nothing could make Harry just suddenly side with the murderer of his parents. Nothing.

But did he really know Harry? After this, after seeing those letters spelling out just who Harry was, could he really still state that he was Harry's best friend? A best friend would have known something was off. A best friend would have known that his friend had suddenly decided to be evil.

What about Hermione? She had been shocked and scared with the rest of them, but she'd followed after Voldemort's swaying robes like it was the most natural thing in the world. And even when Neville and Malfoy -- _Malfoy!_ -- had come back out, she had not. She was in there still, with Harry and Snape and _Voldemort_, and Merlin knew what they were doing. Had she known all this time? Had Neville? Had they all been sneaking behind his back?

And his father. Harry had known, hadn't he? They had been gone the night before, he remembered now. Hermione and Harry had come back late, but his grief had overshadowed his suspicion by morning. Had… was it possible that Harry had done it himself? He felt ill, and Ron suddenly very much wanted to retch. Had Harry been lying all this time, not only about his allegiance, but about his friendship with Ron, as well?

Anger was swiftly overtaking him again, and his hands curled into fists. Had they been the ones to destroy his family? Was he so unworthy now of their friendship that they would betray him in such a huge way? They didn't trust him at all, to have kept all of this from him. They obviously assumed he would have been unable to accept the circumstances, unfit to stand at Harry's side.

He hated Harry for this. He hated him for ruining the world he was so content in, for wrecking his family. He hated him for not trusting Ron to be strong.

But most of all, he hated himself for knowing they were probably right.

* * *

Luna kicked her feet under the table, smiling serenely at her housemates. The eagles were tense and worried, not sniveling like the Hufflepuffs but quite afraid. She wished should could tell them not to be, but without a voice that became a bit tricky.

Luna hummed silently, legs kicking in rhythm with her song. She ignored the hateful looks her housemates sent her for her calm acceptance. She couldn't expect them to understand, after all. They were so dreadfully uninformed, not knowing Harry like she did and without the Wrackspurts to tell them what was really going on.

It was a pity. If they knew, she was sure they would understand. Ravenclaws were logical beings.

_'Knowing One, has the Angel fallen?'_

Luna's smile broadened as she tipped her head, glad to hear a voice. This was her favorite of the Wrackspurts, one of the only to come back again and again. She had a feeling this was because of Harry since he seemed to be his favorite subject. She nodded vaguely, knowing that even the Wrackspurts wouldn't be able to really hear her with the silencing spell in place.

_'Ah, the time has come. Things might be rough now, Knower. Important matters are being decided as we speak, and Angel's choice has been taken from him. Do you think it will make a difference?'_

He sounded so young, so scared. But Luna knew he was strong and so very wise, even more than the others who helped her to understand the workings of people around her. Her smile only brightened as she nodded fervently, paying no mind to the odd looks she was garnering. She was used to it. Poor, uninformed housemates of hers.

_'I am glad you have such faith. It may well be needed in the months and years to come, Knower. Hard times, dark times, they come swiftly. Hope rests on the Angel. Without him…'_

He paused, and Luna nodded her head slowly this time. On Harry rested their fates… but he was worthy, Luna knew. Harry was amazing. She had always known he had great things in his future, and it had had nothing to do with his infamous scar or his famous status. She just knew he was too great to stay in obscurity.

_'Your friends… be sure to be there, Knower. They will surely panic as this all comes apart at the seams. You are the strongest of them all, so guide them, will you?'_

Luna's grin was broad as she nodded decisively, and she felt when the Wrackspurt's presence left her. Something deep inside told her it was the last she would hear from him, but it was nothing new. They all moved on after a time. Perhaps he could move on now as well, be free of whatever held him there. She was glad to have gotten the chance to know him at all.

Luna picked up a napkin and pushed her empty plate away, long since cleared of its food by the house elves. She laid it flat on the table and began folding it, humming once more in her mind. Fold after fold, and she was garnering attention now. No matter. Let them escape from their fear with this if they needed to. Soon, all would be fine.

Her fingers danced over the paper, crumpling bits accidentally but moving on. It wouldn't be perfect, but she couldn't expect it to be. In the end she was proud, holding up her Gromsphanth and grinning at her housemates. They were such skeptics, rolling their eyes. Couldn't they tell what it was? Gromsphanths were magnificent creatures -- cousins of the phoenix, really, with beautiful silver scales.

The sound of voices called her attention, and Luna blew wispy bangs from her face in a short burst. Neville was shaking with a hand pressed to his chest, Draco Malfoy at his side and looking very pale. She let her eyes wander further to where Voldemort was storming away, fury written in his every movement. Then slowly, so slowly, Hermione's distinctive head appeared over the mass of craning students, body visibly shuddering. Luna glanced down at her folded napkin and away again, pushing away to stand.

Time to see what she had missed. Whatever would they do without her, really?

* * *

Poppy Pomfrey had always prided herself on being unshakable. She could face the most gruesome injuries and retain a cool head, and she had been doing just that for many years. It was no exertion to mend broken bones or remove painful curses. She could hear one of her patients screaming and still manage to lock away emotion and deal with it head on. She could practically wade through waste and refuse without batting an eyelash.

Right now, she would much rather be doing any of that.

Her eyes could hardly pull away from the straight-backed posture of Minerva McGonagall. Forty years ago, Circe it had been so long, Poppy had first met her, new in her position and scared out of her mind. Minerva had smiled and just _understood_ how nervous she was, and had proceeded to take her around the school an introduce her to the staff. She hadn't needed to, but she had. She was Poppy's oldest, dearest friend.

Forty years… and now this. Never had she even had an inkling of deception, never had it crossed her mind that Minerva might be hiding something. Thousands of late night conversations, millions of embraces… and Poppy had never even imagined this… this…

She was stronger than this. She could say it, she was no teen. But why did her mind freeze just as she tried to put it into thought? Why did she feel like she was dying inside just to think it?

Minerva was a Death Eater. There, she'd said it, and her heart broke anew at the thought.

Her friend of forty years, her lover of thirty two, was a Death Eater.

How could she possibly cope with this? Give her pestilence over this any day. This was too much for her to bear.

Time seemed to be crawling sluggishly as Minerva turned the barest bit, hazel eyes meeting her own pale green ones. Poppy's breath caught at the icy expression her partner wore, at the depth of Minerva's apathy. Oh, she could not have prepared for this. It hurt so much that Poppy wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and let the pain fade into darkness.

Poppy knew better. There was too much to tend to; the students might need her. There were Death Eaters in the school, rough and vicious people, Voldemort at their head…

She broke contact with those familiar eyes, turning her gaze to the table as tears ran unbidden down her cheeks. How could Minerva do this to her, to them all? What fiend had replaced the love of her life? Oh, if only Albus was still there. They couldn't hope to fight this on their own, not with Minerva and Severus defected. They were the magically strongest of the staff, the ones with the most influence.

They were all doomed now, and for what?

Dear, sweet Harry had gone the same way, as well, it seemed. He was such a kind boy, so many horrors in his life. She knew he had not had a picturesque childhood, his stunted growth only one of the obvious traits. She had supported the boy as best as she could, sitting on the sidelines there to tend his bruises and broken bones. He was one of her children, all of the students were.

His father had been both a favorite son and a nuisance, his more malicious pranks sending students of all houses into her care. But he was effusive and bright, charisma practically oozing from his pores. Even an old woman like Poppy had not been immune to his charm. And Harry had had that same charm in him as well, dormant though it was. It had laid there quietly, only emerging in times of great need. Poppy had glimpsed it. Harry had always been the epitome of the word _special_. And now he had abandoned them all.

Severus was another. One of the choice victims of James and Sirius's pranks, Poppy had seen much of him in his school years. Dark and brooding yet so fragile. He'd had an even more difficult upbringing than Harry had, flinching away from even the most cautious touch for many years. The boy had never trusted her, and that had extended into adulthood. But she had cared for him nonetheless, doting after him even as he became a staff member alongside of her. She couldn't count the number of times she had trudged into the dungeons to check on his wellbeing when he was looking particularly sallow.

Years and years she had tended to the sick, the infirm. She had seen hopeless cases, shed tears over her inability to erase their pain. She had seen people die before her eyes. She had felt the pain of her patients in every heart-wrenching scream, every helpless whimper or plead to make the pain stop. But none of that compared to the feeling of loss Poppy now experienced.

Harry, Minerva, Severus. Three dear people lost to her, all in one horribly culminating evening. Just the night before she had laid with her head on Minerva's shoulder, fingers idly running through her partner's beautiful long hair. Minerva had chuckled at her and tugged on her own short curls, accusing her of being jealous. And, as she had an infinite number of times over the years, Poppy had replied with a simple, "Of course I am."

Oh Circe, how could any one person bear a pain this strong?

Heart in shambles, Poppy laid her arms on the staff table and her head upon them, tears soaking her sleeves as she finally broke into sobs. Mustn't let the children see her despair. Mustn't take away their hope.

But was there even hope to be had?

* * *

Neville patted Luna's hand where it rested on his shoulder, answering her preoccupied grin with a hesitant smile. Things could be falling apart at all angles and Luna would still smile. She would always smile. She believed the best in every situation, in every person. That anyone could be so trusting was a mystery to him… but it was endearing, he supposed. Infectious, maybe. Who could really look down on such a viewpoint?

Here they were, his worst fears come to fruition. Death Eaters were clogging the doors leading from the Great Hall, the cause of his family's misery among them. Harry was injured. Voldemort was angry. People were panicked and sobbing in silence, unable to express their fear because of the silencing spell.

And still, Luna smiled.

Neville knew he was on with Harry for better or for worse. There was no doubt in his mind about that. But it seemed there was a heavy difference between knowing Harry had gone to the other side and seeing Voldemort bearing down on him. Those eyes were so bright, so angry; he could see why so many feared him. Neville had been unable to stop shaking.

Even now he was trembling, and Luna's hand tightened its grip. Neville gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, determined not to shake like a leaf at the mere memory. He'd come a long way, hadn't he? He refused to be the stereotypical coward. He was strong; Harry needed them strong.

Hermione was twisting a section of hair around her fingers, gnawing at her lower lip with a far-off look. Neville knew that look after so many years. That was the look Hermione got when she was stuck on a particularly challenging question, when incongruent data had appeared. The problem with the people for the ritual sat heavily on all their shoulders, even as Neville's eyes trailed over the Hall for the umpteenth time.

There were a few different possibilities. Snape was an obvious one. Blaise was still quite disgruntled. Ron… Neville cringed and couldn't stop his eyes from flicking up. Ron was staring indolently at the Gryffindor table, unmoved for many long minutes. He seemed to have lost the ability to react, and Neville worried for both his own sanity and Hermione's if this kept up. But Ron, Ron was a thought. But they had no idea how he felt at this point. Another possibility was Bellatrix. Neville tensed in irritation at the mere _thought_ of that woman helping Harry, even as a negative pull.

It was such short notice, to try and find such strong emotional ties in only a couple of hours. This was Harry's life they were gambling with! He let out a sigh, closing his eyes and trying to push away his helpless frustration. Four candidates that he could think of, three spots to fill. None falling perfectly into place like he'd want them to. Everything was so unsure.

Hope felt like it was slipping through his fingers, half his mind on Harry lying prone in the antechamber. He had not looked like he was sleeping, messy hair in disarray. He had looked _dead_. He understood it was some magically-induced coma, but he certainly didn't look to be functioning. It gave Neville the chills. Without Harry… where would they be? He had the uncomfortable feeling that without Harry there, none of them would be safe. He could only imagine Voldemort's reaction.

That was another thing. How had he missed the memorandum that Harry and Voldemort were _lovers_? Neville fought down a grimace. He had nothing against two guys, of course, but… Voldemort? Really? Sure, he was sort of handsome when not looking like a snake, but he was _Voldemort_. He'd killed Harry's parents with his own hands. It would be like Neville sleeping with Bellatr-- he quickly cut off that train of thought to stop himself from gagging. He would not go there.

However, Harry was a grown man. Neville couldn't fault him for his relationship, no matter how disturbing it might be to him. There had to be something more to the notorious Dark Lord if Harry saw enough in him to be in a relationship. He only hoped that what he saw was enough. But what would Voldemort do if Harry didn't make it? A shudder racked him as he imagined the devastation.

Luna's hands were pushing his shoulder now, and he turned to face her fully with a weak smile. She held up a napkin, folded primly into a deformed looking bird, head too long for its body. Neville laughed suddenly, overcome with the urge to hug his closest friend. He could never lose hope so long as Luna was at his side, vague smiles and all. He didn't know what he would do without her.

Hermione fidgeted, warm brown eyes suddenly meeting Neville's. He smiled at her, willing the cheer Luna had suffused into him to transfer to her. Hermione was so worried, so stressed. Harry wasn't there to control her reactions, and Neville worried what would happen if she lost control now. Would he have what it took to knock her out before she could hurt anyone?

"Any more ideas?"

She blinked several times before trying a smile of her own, finally releasing her teeth from her lip. "I'm really not sure. There are so many combinations, and none of them seem perfect. If I understand the spell right, the positive emotions are more important… but the negative are necessary for contrast and grounding. The stronger the fit, the better. But… Merlin, I don't know what to do."

"For Harry… we'll do this right no matter what, Hermione."

She looked shocked for a moment, staring at him like he was a stranger. Neville shifted, wondering what he'd done, when Hermione smiled. It was so bright. For months she had been weighted down, rarely coming out of her own, personal darkness. Only when Harry was around did she smile at all, but even then they hadn't been so brilliant. He smiled back, feeling warmth suffuse him.

No matter what.

* * *

She tested the air, slinking forward slowly. Not much farther now.

The robed ones were in her way, they always seemed to be, but they skittered once they noticed her form, allowing her passage. Good. They should be afraid. It was only by her master's graces that they remained free of her fangs. A few of them even looked tasty… the blond, for one. But no, the brat would be upset if she ate that one, he seemed pleased with him.

It wouldn't do to upset her master's mate, after all.

There were small ones in here, a lot of them. Some hardly more than hatchlings, others nearly grown. There was even a miniature blond one! Perhaps she could eat this one? But she would have to ask Master, and Master would probably speak with the larger blond one or his mate about it. And they would probably deny her. Nagini harrumphed as well as a snake could.

She knew she was no normal snake. Between being eternally linked with her Master and living alongside humans for so many years, she often thought herself to be more human than snake. She had slowly come to understand the strange ways humans thought, and it was really quite fascinating. She wondered what it would be like to meet another snake now after so many years. Would she even be able to understand them anymore?

Her master would be pleased with her, she knew. She brought good news.

_//Pet, I didn't expect you here. What brings you?//_

Her Master was there, gazing down on her with those familiar eyes. She missed his more reptilian looks, but she could tell his mate preferred this. Silly brat he was, but she supposed it was his choice.

_//I have news, Master. The round man in the ugly hat was taken away.//_

He crouched down at once, fingers coming out to stroke across her head. She could feel his approval over their bond, and she thrummed with happiness.

_//Thank you, Nagini. You should find a place to rest… I cannot leave yet.//_

_//What is happening, Master?//_

He pursed his lips, anger contorting his features. _//There were complications. Nothing for you to worry about.//_

_//Your mate, Master? I would like to demand him to warm me; these stones are chilled.//_

The rage in his eyes deepened, and Nagini's curiosity spiked. Something was wrong with her Master's mate. How… interesting_. //Never you mind, Nagini. Go now.//_

She snickered as well as she could, turning away. _ //You humans are amusing creatures.//_

_//And you are replaceable, pet.//_

Nagini knew better, and didn't pay any attention as her master stood and spun on his heel. All would be well, and perhaps she could finally see him content. He was such a finicky man, so angry and brusque. It would be nice to see a change. Perhaps he would import more of the fat mice he used to favor her with. Those had been delicious.

Now, Nagini's only wish was to find a suitable lap. There had to be one amongst the hundreds of bodies. Perhaps the smaller blond? Without Master's mate around, perhaps she could even get away with a taste…

* * *

Revised: 3/21/09


	38. Catharsis

Disclaimer: As this story begins to come towards its end, I still do not own the rights to HP & Co. Another year, another birthday in the disclaimer of Paraselenic, and still nothing.

_//This is Parseltongue.//_

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Catharsis // a release of emotional tension, as after an overwhelming experience, that restores or refreshes the spirit_

* * *

Tom stared down at the prone form, watching as a grimace crossed Potter's features. It was discomfiting, seeing the expressions cross his face without stimulus to produce it. The line of blood at his neck had dried, and his hand was now wrapped in bandages to stave the bleeding wound that sometimes cracked open. There were tear tracks dried on the young man's face, and Tom was uncomfortable looking at him.

But he didn't move away. Severus had left to assist Minerva in taming the student body, Pierce was seeing the Marquis off before getting some necessary supplies for the ritual and setting up for it in a suitable room. He had set the students who might have been prying about his business on finding the last three for the ritual, and Tom had nothing to do but wait.

Wait and watch Potter's eyes move behind closed lids, looking to be actively dreaming now instead of frozen in time.

It was an improvement.

Tom found himself dropping to the floor, gracefully of course, sitting near Potter's head and staring down at the familiar features. The force of the spell had shortened the life of the vampire's potions, leaving him in his natural form. How could everything have gone so wrong? They were on a path to something great, and now there was a chance he would have to follow it alone.

Since when had that idea struck foreboding into his heart? Tom clenched his hands irritably. He had been alone his entire life, surrounded by Death Eaters or not. There had never been anyone he could consider his equal, no one more intelligent or talented. And even Potter was neither of these things, still on the cusp of being a boy with a rash Gryffindor streak to annoy Tom further. But he was powerful, yes, and he had many qualities Tom saw in himself. And he was more.

When he had first accepted Potter's proposal, it was with glee. He'd had no wish to share his rule, but the idea of taking out Dumbledore and gaining Harry Potter all at once had been too much to pass up. How wonderful it would be, he'd thought, to present himself to the world after Dumbledore's fall, Harry Potter to his right, showing the world just how badly they'd lost? It was divine vengeance in an unexpected form, and Tom had been thrilled beyond anything to be able to achieve it.

But that had changed. Between power plays, dominance, and long midnight talks that Dark Lords should never admit to having, Potter had become more than trophy of war. More than a hindering ally. And Tom wasn't a fool. He hated himself for having fallen so far into this trap of humanity, but he had. Deeply. Irrevocably.

His fingers reached to Potter's neck, fingers working gently to pull a few stray near-black hairs from the scab formed. It would annoy Potter when he got up if his hair was being pulled by it. He'd been told explicitly not to use magic on Potter in this state, so he pushed down the urge to heal the mark, forcing his hand away from Potter's skin and setting it back in his lap.

He'd gotten only a barebones outline of the ritual. That annoyed him more than anything else, being left out of the loop as he was. Pierce knew more than he did, so did the Marquis. And the vampires were leaving him in the dark, only letting him know what they thought he needed to.

A ritual in a star formation, contradictory emotions standing opposite of one another. Potter in the middle. The emotions of the caster were what mattered, the higher the strength of the emotion the higher the success rate. A trial of some sort.

Tom's teeth clamped together and he glared at a wall, eyes narrowed. This was ridiculous, this ambiguity. They had no right to keep important information from him, not when Harry's life was on the line and time was of the essence! He stood and brushed off his robes, glancing once more at Potter before opening the door and observing the two Death Eaters on the other side. "If Potter so much as twitches, I expect to be made aware of it. Clear?"

He got fervent nods in return, and he brushed past them without another word. His eyes scanned the state of the Great Hall, taking in the despondent students. Their silence seemed to have broken them, worn them down. The whole atmosphere of the room was oppressive, dark and dreary. Staff were tense and anxious, students exhausted from fear and sorrow. Tom took all of it in and stalked towards a small table that had been conjured in his absence where Hermione Granger had collected a miscellany of people around her.

Five were students, besides Granger, the chubby Longbottom boy, and Lucius's progeny: two girls in Ravenclaw robes, a boy in Hufflepuff's, and one girl in Slytherin's. Lucius stood imperiously to the side with Severus at his left, Minerva in the back and watching the hall rather than the proceedings. The students were crowded around Granger's chair, occasionally pointing to areas of the long parchment she had in front of her on the low table.

"Right, that won't work then, will it? You're sure you don't harbor ill will towards Harry, Mister Malfoy?"

Lucius's eyes twitched as if he wished to roll them. "No, Granger. He is annoying but I am suitably accepting of his presence."

Granger scratched at something on her parchment, tapping the quill on the edge with a frown.

Tom stopped behind her, arms crossed. "You still have no solution, mudblood?"

She jumped, which was pleasing, but she scowled defiantly just after and ruined the effect. "There are kinks to be worked out. I have over half a dozen candidates for positions, but whenever they fall into place it leaves an opening unfilled."

He looked over her shoulder, sneering at her messy scrawl over the page. Names were listed in columns with comments beneath, many things scratched out in between the hardly legible ones left. Notations of 'Enemy', 'Hates', and 'Skeptic' were scrawled everywhere, some removed and some bolded with annoyed slashes made beneath. Tom held back a sudden exhausted urge to sigh.

"Granger, I cannot read this rubbish. Tell me what I need to know."

She sighed, ink-stained fingers coming to rub her temples. "How about I just tell you my thoughts on all the candidates? I would rather get a fresh opinion."

Tom scowled and summoned an empty chair from the staff table, seating himself imperiously and crossing an ankle over his knee. "Fine. Hurry it up."

The attention of the hall was on them, and Tom wondered if it was a good idea to hold this in public. He didn't see any real detriments, though, and he refused to be closed in the small antechamber, already half full of stored items, with eight of Potter's associates, Lucius, Minerva, and Severus. It was too much, and it was too close to Potter. It would only distract him.

"Right. First I had Draco written down. He seemed like a likely suspect when I started, and thought we might be able to slip him easily into _some_ role. He's been Harry's rival for six years, and they've done a lot of rotten things to one another, but… well…" she shrugged. "He doesn't see himself as Harry's enemy, claims to not hate him, and doesn't really have any doubts."

Tom's eyes moved to the young Malfoy, raising an eyebrow. The blond was chewing on the corner of his lip, and Tom glanced to Lucius to see if he noticed the childish habit. The boy spoke with a frown, eyes lowered respectfully as he addressed the Dark Lord. "Maybe a few months ago, before I'd found out about him, I would have considered him my enemy. But now? No. This is dependent on how strong we feel, right? You don't have to like someone to be sure of them, but I don't _hate_ him."

Tom's fingers tapped against the arm of his chair. "Obviously Lucius's boy isn't going to fit. Next, Granger?"

She pursed her lips, glancing at him with agitation. "Lucius was next, but as I just ascertained he does not fit, either."

Tom glanced to Lucius and back to the Gryffindor girl, sneering. "I might have told you that."

Granger threw up her hands, pushing back her chair and displacing the people around her. "I don't know what you expect of me, Voldemort. I cannot read peoples' feelings for Harry, and I do not know if their emotions would be strong enough to sustain the ritual. This is Harry's life we are dealing with, and I am not going to jam in puzzle pieces that don't fit! Professor Snape is too skeptical about _himself_ to fit strongly enough in anything, both Malfoys are out, we don't even know how Ron is feeling and I can't find out because you've silenced everyone! I've been told Harry and Blaise Zabini had problems with one another, another thing I can't find out, and I certainly don't want to deal with Bellatrix to figure out her feelings on Harry."

Her lack of deference was annoying enough for him to Cruciate her, but he held back. She was needed for the ritual, after all. He glared darkly at her, a bare tensing of his muscles allowing him to transform into his affected form. Voldemort was pleased when she blanched and backed into her seat with wide eyes. "Would you like me to simply rip through the minds of those you are unsure of?" he said with a malevolent hiss, fingers rapping against his crossed arm. She went paler, and so did several of the other students.

"My lord…" Severus's voice was faltering, and crimson eyes cut to his face. The lines around his mouth were deepened drastically, making him look older. "Perhaps if you simply removed the silencing spell? I am sure, with questioning, we will be able to make more satisfactory progress."

Voldemort gritted his teeth. This incompetence was ridiculous. "There is little more than two hours until the moon is at its zenith."

"Yes, my lord. We are aware of the constraints on time and will not fail you."

"Pray you do not, because if Potter is lost, your lives are forfeit."

* * *

Half an hour later, Severus was glad he was not an emotional man. An emotional man would have screamed already, grabbed his students and shaken them until they couldn't think straight. Thirty precious minutes and still they were talking themselves in circles and toiling over semantics. Lucius had joined in at some point, shooting down observations and scoffing as Granger became more huffy than ever. Even his lord -- _his lord!_ -- occasionally put in sarcastic jabs, drawing out the process further.

"What about an Order member for the enemy?" Longbottom's voice was hesitant and quiet, and Severus sneered.

"No, no, that would never work. Potter's only just been revealed; we need someone who has known. The shock of his identity and mixed feelings due to him being Harry Potter would ruin the effect and lessen the emotions," Zacharias Smith said, rolling his eyes.

"For a skeptic, then?" hummed Turpin, fingers moving over the parchment. "The conflicting emotions…"

Pansy Parkinson shook her head, speaking up from Draco's side away from the group. "The definition of a skeptic is of doubt, yes, but of someone who doubts accepted beliefs, not someone who just so happens to be in shock. A random person may be in doubt over Potter's identity, but I do not think that is what the spell means. We need someone who knows and has known who Potter is and still does not know what to think of him. I say Blaise is a good choice."

"Seconded," Draco said imperiously, smirking like his word should sway them all. Severus tried not to look exasperated.

"Zabini? I don't know, Parkinson. I was thinking that Professor Snape might work after all, if only because he never stops questioning Harry. He is nearly the ideal of a skeptic…" Granger had a large chunk of her fluffy hair twisted around her fingers. "He is unsure. Even if it is about everything else as well, he is surely the most deeply doubtful of Harry."

"I see your point, but I still don't think he would work. We should look into other options. Snape should be a last resort." Severus gritted his teeth, holding back an angry retort. He would not stoop to arguing with children, even if they were morons.

"But Zabini? What do we know about his motivations?"

"You are all useless," the Dark Lord barked. "Get the boy up here and perhaps you can stop asking the same questions again and again. Zabini!"

Severus wanted to groan as the Dark Lord glared towards the Slytherin table, waiting for Blaise Zabini to make his way forward, face drawn and steps hesitant. Severus didn't blame him for his caution, but he still wanted to order the boy to hurry up. He reached the front and stopped, bowing deeply before the Dark Lord. "Yes, my lord?"

"You want to be a Death Eater, boy?"

Zabini was shaking, though he hid it admirably. "Yes, my lord."

Severus's lord sat regally with narrowed eyes, reptilian face gaunt. It was truly a horrific sight, one Severus was glad to rarely see. His lord's mood was darkening with every passing minute, and Severus had seen his eyes cut more than a few times toward the open antechamber door. The blatant worry was more frightening than the Dark Lord's unnatural form, the humanization having proceeded at an alarming rate. Severus shuddered against his will.

"Do you doubt Potter?" the Dark Lord asked directly, fingers drumming on the arm of his chair.

Zabini kept his eyes on the ground, fists tightened into balls at his side. "Yes."

Crimson eyes narrowed further, mere slits in the reptilian face. "Explain."

"He killed a child. Perhaps it was for mercy as he told my mother, perhaps it was to rid himself of an obstacle. Perhaps it was for no reason at all. But he killed… he killed a _child_, and I can see him hover beside Potter every moment I am in the room with him, and it sickens me. He was my cousin and he was helpless. I… even if it was a mercy, I do not know what to think. What manner of monster kills a child?"

Everyone froze as Voldemort laughed, a high cackle that was the stuff of nightmares. Bald head tipped back, he howled in amusement, one hand sliding up to press to his forehead. Severus felt like every ounce of blood had left his face, his limbs. He was cold.

Voldemort's laugh stopped abruptly, head snapping forward and features clearing back to those of his more human form. His sneer was black, made disturbing by the shadows his fringe cast on his eyes. "Potter? A monster? You know very little, boy. That foolish brat is too soft for his own good. But for one who wants to be a Death Eater, you are quite willfully ignorant. Have you forgotten who left the scar on Potter's brow? Are you insulting _me_ now, boy?"

Zabini's eyes were wide, and Severus was tense. This was very bad. The Dark Lord did not act amicably towards those who insulted his person. He didn't want a student killed, he didn't want that on his conscience. The students were annoying, surely, but he wouldn't have them struck down…

"N-No, my lord! I… I…"

"Stop your excuses, Zabini. You are lucky that I think you may be suited for this ritual, or you would be dead for your impertinence. Get out of my sight."

The boy nearly tripped over himself as he dashed away, leaving Voldemort with a callous smirk. He turned to Granger and raised an eyebrow. "One problem solved. I couldn't care less if you choose Severus or Zabini, but make your damned choice. Next?"

She was flustered, mouth moving without sound. Her quill shook in her fingers. Severus felt much the same. "I-I, umm, one who hates. One who hates and enemy."

"And the choices are?"

Her hands clenched into fists, eyes closing as she steeled herself. It seemed to help her, no longer looking into the Dark Lord's crimson eyes. "The only people suitable for the positions would be Bellatrix or R-Ron. I don't know how Ron is feeling…"

"Bella?" Severus shivered at the dull tone. "One of my Death Eaters?"

"Yes, sir. She hates him, doesn't she? According to everyone and to Harry himself, she's never accepted him as her lord. She hates him for the weakness she perceives in him, she hates him for…" Granger paused, and Severus willed her not to say it. She was bright, wasn't she? She wasn't nearly stupid enough to… "For being in a relationship with you when she couldn't be." She'd said it. Severus wanted to slap a hand to his face. Damned moronic Gryffindor…

Severus was nearly shocked when the Dark Lord didn't react but for a glare, long fingers coming to stroke at his lips. "She could fit for either, then. If she never accepted him, truthfully, and is against him, she might well see him as an enemy. And if her feelings are as strong as you say they are…"

"I wouldn't know, really sir. But from what I've seen and heard--"

"Do not interrupt me, mudblood." Severus cringed as the brunette seethed, brown eyes fixed in a ferocious glare. The Dark Lord, of course, ignored her. "It seems the deciding factor comes down to Weasley, then. Lucius, bring him up here."

"Yes, my lord." Lucius made his way down the tables, ignoring the students that cringed away in fear or glared in helpless fury. Ron Weasley was sitting despondent in his seat, unmoving even as Lucius flicked his wand and levitated him to the front of the room. He dropped him roughly at the Dark Lord's feet, moving back to Severus's side.

"Is he under an enchantment, Lucius?" the Dark Lord sneered, the pointed toe of his boot jabbing the boy in the shoulder.

"No, my lord, merely in some state of shock."

"Well, useless then, isn't he?" Zacharias Smith rolled a shoulder to pop it, expression supremely bored. "It doesn't really bode well for a shell to be placed at a cardinal emotion part."

Severus startled when Lucius snorted, glancing over to see the blond picking at his nails. "There is a vast difference between feeling emotion and projecting it, boy. This simply makes the matter of ascertaining his present state more difficult. It could go either way, really; Mylläkkä did, after all, hand over his blood-traitor father to be killed. It just depends on how betrayed he feels. Personally, I think he would be best placed as enemy, since he is on the opposite side in the war…"

Draco cocked his head, joining in the idle speculation. "Perhaps you're right, Father. He _is _a Gryffindor; the sentimentality with those lot is stifling."

"With an interview--"

"You morons!"

Severus's eyes swung with morbid fascination to Granger, who had stormed towards the Slytherin group without his notice. Before anyone could react she reached up and slapped Lucius Malfoy across the face, teeth bared. "He didn't know that until just now; have you no decency?"

Severus turned toward where Weasley was lying on the ground, taking in the sudden tenseness to his frame. He hadn't reacted since the incident revealing Potter's identity, staying sullen and silent with the rest of the hall. Severus had been surprised not to have to stun him, stop him from attacking whoever was near him or rushing the Great Hall's doors.

It was not surprising with the Dark Lord's eyes lit, a wicked smirk curving his lips. "You didn't know, Weasley? Poor thing. Having your best friend keep a decade's worth of lies from you, even going so far as to sentence your father to death."

Morbid fascination kept Severus watching, having already surmised exactly what his lord was doing. Drive the boy deeper, make the feeling stick. Even if it fell to pieces when the heat of betrayal wore off, it was only needed for the next hour. The Dark Lord was trying to send Weasley halfway to insanity, and by the steady dullness of the boy's eyes, Severus thought it might be working.

He hated the boy, but no one deserved this.

"Sweet Harry, your best friend for life, hmm? You must have been drawn to the power he had, the scar I left on his brow. Isn't that right, Weasley? And you were like his _puppy_, following him through every trial I laid. And now what do you see? Potter isn't against me at all, is he? Never thought to tell you that he'd stopped fighting me. You must have meant so little to him, allowing him to just forget your existence…"

Weasley's face was shadowed by his hair, but his body trembled. Severus tried to suffocate the rending pity he felt. He would not feel bad for _Weasley_ of all people, even if it was Weasley subjected to the Dark Lord's smooth tongue, cooing words belied by the intent.

"And then he handed over your father to Lucius. Did you know that he cared more about the fate of the werewolf? He hardly blinked to send your father to death, waving Lucius to torture him with a smile. How little did you and your family mean to him, boy? How disillusioned with the wonderful Harry Potter are you now?"

The Dark Lord's wand was out before Severus even saw him move, a slash sending the boy into unconsciousness with a Stunner. Severus closed his eyes as the boy's body was ordered to be moved away.

The sooner this ritual was done the better.

* * *

Freedom was something often taken for granted. The freedom to act as one wished was something often given up with the conclusion of childhood, the freedom to do or feel as one wished was something most adults pushed down. But still they had freedom. Freedom to choose their own way, freedom to follow societal standards or to shun them. Freedom to live as they had chosen.

Minerva wondered about the last time she'd really been free.

She'd given up her freedom with adulthood, as many people did. Naïveté had fallen away with the realities of war, the Dark Lord Grindelwald's defeat not managing to end conflict. And Minerva had willingly shunned any vestiges of autonomy she might have had, choosing to follow after the young Tom Riddle. But she had never regretted her choice, not even when things had gotten their darkest and her lord had been defeated.

She remembered that night. She remembered the shock and fury that had lanced through her body, how glad she had been when Hagrid had run off to get the, now orphaned, Potter boy right after. The idea of killing the infant that had stolen away her lord had crossed her mind several times. She'd been furious as she'd left through Diagon Alley, seeing all the wizards whooping and cheering over her master's demise. Cretins. They'd had no idea of the Dark Lord's true power, or they would have too afraid to even whisper their gladness.

She'd taken off into the night immediately in her animagus form. Hagrid had only said that the boy was being taken to live with muggles, to _protect_ him. Minerva sneered. Lily Evans had had family just outside of Muggle London, and if Dumbledore was taking the boy who'd defeated her lord to muggles, there were few more likely.

She'd arrived just before nightfall, shadows lengthening over the yard of 4 Privet Drive. Disgustingly muggle place for disgusting muggles, and there was nothing more to it. They would dump their supposed Savior there? Albus Dumbledore was a conniving, vicious man, no matter his public persona, but Minerva hadn't been able to fathom why he'd do such a thing. Surely not even a muggle-lover like him could think the place would be safe for the one who had managed to defeat her lord? Nowhere would be safe, let alone somewhere so ordinary. If she had to, she would kill the boy herself.

The idea had been so enticing.

She had thought to wait for Dumbledore to leave the boy. She could kill him, kill him for his very existence. Surely a cat nearby would arouse no suspicion?

Minerva shook her head, willing herself back into the present. Dumbledore had somehow known her animagus form, and it had been that that led her to register it. But regardless, learning of the Blood Wards had been fortuitous. Had she killed the boy, her cover would surely have been blown; she hadn't been working under Albus Dumbledore for so many years only to be ousted before her lord had need of her. Because she'd known he would return.

"I don't like Ron for the one who hates. Hate is a very complicated emotion, and I just do not think that such a strong friendship can be warped so easily! I know Ron better than all of you, and he just isn't that way. He's loyal. Even with betrayal, he won't be able to _hate_ Harry without a more concrete reason…"

"This coming after the debacle in fourth year, Granger?" the young Malfoy sneered, rolling his eyes. "He turned his back on Potter with barely a reason at all. Are you willfully ignorant?"

"Shut up, Malfoy, I was not speaking to you. You have no idea what was going on then. You just don't. Ron has grown since then regardless, and I think it would be a huge mistake to force him into the hate position. Bellatrix is more suited. She has had years for her detestation of Harry to grow, from the boy who had killed her lord to the boy she perceived as weak at the Ministry. Even beyond that, her rage and jealousy fed how she felt about Harry, knowing it was him or not. Hate is a deep-seated emotion, and the longer it has been left to ferment the better."

Minerva canted her head, an eyebrow raising slowly. She'd kept out of the debates, more concerned with the state of her students than the plans for a ritual, but after seeing the depths of her lord's devotion she had changed her priorities. Anything that could make the Dark Lord so… so _passionate _had to be important. "If you do not think Weasley would be suited for a position of hate, why assume he would work for the enemy?"

Granger whirled at her voice, eyes searching Minerva's face. She'd not given much of a chance for anyone to acclimate to her allegiances, and she supposed it was rather shocking. She girl stared for long moments before she looked away, her lower lip was caught between her teeth. "The most commonly accepted textbook definition of enemy is that of hatred. But enemy means many things, and why would the ritual call for both an enemy and one who hates if they were meant for the same thing? I think the definition, especially in contrast with the role of friend, would be someone who would work against rather than for. A person whose goals are not the same, who is an opponent. As of a few hours ago, Ron and Harry no longer work for the same ideals. Even friendship cannot change that so quickly."

"The same could be said for you, could it not?" Minerva hummed, tightening her lips. "Surely a muggleborn like you isn't for blood supremacy."

Brown eyes narrowed in a glare before she seemed to remember who she was glaring at, a dull flush coloring her cheeks. "I'm not, but neither is Harry. Harry just wants what is best for the survival of the Wizarding world. Even so, I've had months to get used to this. It is Harry who I follow, even if our ideals are not the same."

"Would not Weasley feel the same?"

"Perhaps, but he doesn't know all that, does he? It only matters how the casters feel, and right now I will bet you anything that Ron feels like Harry is now his enemy." Silence was rapt as she turned back around in her chair, making a few marks on her parchment. "And there is no one I'd rather have as my opposing pole. I know it will work."

"You had better be right, Granger," Minerva turned toward her lord's voice, captivated again. So _long_ she had waited to be beside him once more. It felt like eons, and the awe she felt had not diminished. "There is half of an hour left."

A scream rent the air.

Her lord's head whipped to the side and he stood, back straight and stride like a predator as he stalked towards the antechamber. Minerva fought down a chill. He was magnificent, his power so enthralling. The scream had yet to stop, Harry Potter's voice easily identified by the location. Her lord was barking orders out, sending Granger running for the Great Hall's doors and demanding Severus to his side. He gave her none, so Minerva contented herself with watching her lord snapping commands.

Her eyes moved against her conscious will to the staff table, seeing the top of Poppy's head. She was still bent over her arms, shoulders no longer shaking but an occasional shudder racking her. She must have fallen asleep, Minerva thought, since she didn't run to try and force her help on the situation. That was her Poppy. And Potter was a soft spot for her. Minerva forced down a sigh, wondering if the betrayal she doubtlessly felt would stop her from running to the boy.

No. Not her Poppy.

But as she forced her eyes away, Minerva couldn't help but wonder if she could accurately predict anything the matron would do in such a situation.

* * *

Nails dug into his skin, scraping it away. He could feel it under his nails, feel the blood running down the backs of his hands. He wanted to reach the source of the pain, rip it out and asphyxiate it, smother every last iota of existence from it. Perhaps then the pain would end. The flesh he tore away was hardly noticed; the roaring agony in his chest, in his head, in his gut and his limbs was the only thing he was conscious of.

A hand flew to his eyes, his burning eyes, hands like claws gripping at his brow. Blood, sticky and hot, seeped past clenched eyelids and trailed down his cheeks, morbid tears on tanned skin. He screamed and screamed, throat tearing.

"Oh, Angel. I wish it had not been destined to come to this. You should have made a choice while you had the chance. Did you think you could keep gaining all for nothing? You paid no price for your ability, your power. You were content to take and take, consequence lost in your need for more power. Ah, Angel… had you chosen a path, this might have been easier. Fate does not take kindly to having the order of things subverted."

The voice danced over his consciousness, drowned intermittently with the blazing anguish. He couldn't care any less about whatever the voice was saying; it was not there to stop the pain. It was extraneous.

Whiplashes like fire across his skin, splitting apart like the peel of a fruit. Lashes carved cleanly through skin and muscle, sending a vibrato through his bones in an ever-increasing tempo. In a rare flash of lucidity, Harry knew this was the end. He was being reduced to nothing. There was no way anything could survive this, Vampire or not. Immortality simply meant one could live eternally without nature's interfering -- it did not denote invincibility.

Harry wondered who would attend his funeral, even as a lash of pure agony struck across his throat.

* * *

"Mylläkkä will require those potions upon waking, Snape. Make the blood replenisher a double dose."

Severus was glaring, but Tom knew he wouldn't dare argue the point right now. Not with lacerations opening over Potter's skin, barely kept in check by the runic circle he'd been placed in. The Potions master made for the door with haste, robes snapping around him. Tom refused to look towards where Potter lay. He'd made the mistake once already and nearly lost control over his legs, and he would not do such a thing again. He had seen the torture of hundreds… _thousands_… and he wouldn't let the ceaseless screams affect his mind now.

"Zabini will take his place then, Pierce?"

The blond peered at him through golden fringe, blue eyes gone midnight. The man projected apathy, but he was even more distressed than Granger under the mask. He was a maelstrom of Dark energy, malevolent and pernicious. Tom got the distinct idea that the man was holding on by a thread, held together by sheer habit more than anything else.

"I was under the impression that either would work, Voldemort."

He inclined his head. "We shall see, won't we?" Tom wasted no time in flicking his wand toward the door, disregarding decorum as he Summoned the Zabini boy to him. He would not be too damaged from the experience to function, and Tom had little care for anything beyond that.

After discovering Potter bleeding profusely, Tom had ordered Granger to find the vampire, who had returned minutes later and demanded Potter be brought along. The man was unsurprised, which was suspicious, and that the inner runic circle had a regeneration function was even more so. The vampire had refused to answer Tom's questions about what was happening to Potter, simply pursing his lips and putting finishing touches on the outer circle. They'd organized in the room off the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, usually used for dueling. A six-pointed star was drawn in glowing chalk, made of tiny runes when one looked closely enough.

Dante turned away from him, surveying the cowering students with a sneer. So many children. "Take your positions." Tom reluctantly agreed with the disgusted expression on the vampire's face, uneasy that Potter's fate was being left in the hands of pubescent brats.

Tom moved to the head of the ritual circle. His wand flicked to bring the Weasley boy back to consciousness, not bothering to listen as he was instructed by a malicious Pierce. Bellatrix had admitted to hating the boy she'd deemed unworthy, and had capitulated to helping in the ritual while kissing his robes and proclaiming she would do anything her lord bade. Tom had had to force himself not to kick her. Tom considered letting Potter kill her when it was all over for her defiance. Zabini limped as he made his way to his place, a bleeding cut at his temple leaving blood to drip onto his shoulder. Tom threw a healing spell at it, not wanting to find out how the circle would react to blood dripping into it outside of Potter's inner circle.

"Close your eyes." said Pierce, voice tight and terse. "Concentrate on nothing but thoughts of Mylläkkä."

Tom did not look at the prone form, pushing away the echoes of his hoarse screaming; he was going to get Potter back. Even if he would soon after strangle him for all the trouble he'd caused.

* * *

His eyes opened to nothingness. It was not white, nor black, nor gray. It had no hue or shade. Harry felt like he was nonexistent.

"Mylläkkä."

A tickling sensation danced across his skin, the fine hairs on his body rustling in its wake. Warm fingers danced down the ridges of his spine. "Dante?"

A vague sound of confirmation and the tickling sensation became a bit more pronounced, but it was tempered by the warm lapping at his mind, like waves. "Yes, Mylläkkä. We do not have much time…"

"I died, didn't I?"

"Yes."

Expecting it wasn't enough. The truth was like a slap in the face. But Harry felt no despair, no anger, only the waves of content lapping at his mind and the vague tracing of warmth across his arms and back. He felt as if nothing negative could ever touch him again, metaphysical arms encircling him.

"Will you tell my friends I loved them, Dante? I think I'd like for them to know that, at least."

The tickling sensation magnified a hundred fold, making Harry jerk. Dante's voice held a lilt that Harry had come to associate with a held-back laugh. "You always think so linearly, Mylläkkä. You are not _dead_, you are merely no longer amongst the living."

Harry tried to understand Dante's logic, but even a decade as his student hadn't made him any more able to do so. "Stop being a vague git."

He felt those incorporeal arms tighten around him, and any annoyance that had tickled his mind faded. He floated. "When you accepted Valerian's blood, it gave you Vampiric abilities without the prices we vampires pay. It was something of a pledge, Mylläkkä. It was a given that you would not be able to have something for nothing forever."

Harry didn't understand, and he tried to find a way to voice that. "A _pledge_…?"

"Not in a literal sense, but yes. Nothing in this world is free, and it was only a matter of time before it caught up with you. It was a choice you had to make on your own, we could not have prepared you. Once your task was complete, it seems the magics saw fit to make the choice."

"If the choice was my own, why did I not get to choose?"

"You did. Perhaps not on a conscious level, but it seems there is enough keeping you in the world of the living to keep you from wanting to pass on once your task was complete."

"My choices, then, were to die or… to die? How utterly…" The sensations began to fade, and Harry suddenly felt panic clawing at his chest. "Dante! Don't go, please…"

"I cannot stay. I have played my role, Mylläkkä. You will see me once you awaken."

"How do I do that?!"

"Listen." The ghostly sensation of a hand patting his head, and Harry was left in the nothingness… cold and alone.

* * *

He soon wished he'd been left alone in the empty nothingness.

"Ickle baby Potter needs Bella's help, does he?"

Harry swore the muscles in his cheek twitched. Who in the hell had thought using Bellatrix for _anything_ related to him was a good idea? "I really don't. In fact, why not just die and save me the trouble of being irritated at your presence?"

A gritty, suffocating fog rolled over him, Bellatrix's smug glee seeping into his pores. He was understanding the sensations better now. They were the emotions of the person addressing him. "The Dark Lord asked me specifically. Got yourself into a fix, did you Potter? And we know you just can't do a thing by yourself, no no. You are unworthy of my lord." The glee transformed into something dark and malevolent, pouring down his throat. "Who do you think you are to stroll in and ruin everything? You've warped him with your taint, haven't you boy?"

Harry tried to surface from the enveloping malice. "You're not very smart, are you Bellatrix?"

A lance of pain ran down his spine. "No, Potter, it is you who isn't smart. You were lauded as a savior for defeating my lord, but you're nothing but a child. I don't know what you did to him to make him take you in, but he'll soon get sick of you. My lord can do so much better than staining himself with your foul self, Potter, disgusting little halfbreed. Poor little orphan Potter, mudblood mommy died before his eyes…"

Harry pushed at the feeling, wrapping every ounce of will around it and throwing it as hard as he could away from himself. "And yet… who's got him, _Bella_?"

She screamed, but it didn't effect him anymore. He was thankful when the nothingness rolled back to cloak him.

* * *

"How could he, how could he? I don't get it. Wasn't I a good friend? Of all the things he could have done, why did he do it?"

Needles struck into him from all angles, tiny pricks of pain burrowing into his skin. He recognized the voice so well. "Ron?"

"All those years, I only wanted to be his friend. Just that. I was there for him, wasn't I? Sure I messed up sometimes, but didn't I try my best the rest of it? I'm not like him, I'm not so good. But he forgave me for it, I thought. Why would be do this to me?"

The needles felt like they were drilling to his very bones, and Harry was surprised how much it hurt. What was this sensation? "Ron… I can't say I'm sorry for the things I've done, but I am sorry it had to come down to this."

"All those years of following along in his shadow, thrown in my face. Told Hermione, told Neville, probably told everyone else, too. Not me, though. Never me. I just wasn't good enough for him, my family wasn't good enough. Why, Harry? Why did you do it? Why my father, of all people?!"

"Ron--"

The boy continued like he didn't hear, and Harry began to wonder if he really didn't. "He was a good man, a kind man. He never hurt you, he loved you like a son. Why would you let him die like he didn't matter? Why did you destroy my family? We were supposed to be Dumbledore's age together, and I was still supposed to be beating you at chess. You were supposed to marry Ginny and give me little nieces and nephews to load with sugar and Fred and George's prank items. We were supposed to be best mates forever."

The stabbing faded and was replaced by bone-chilling cold. Ice flooded his veins, solidified them and made him freeze from the inside out. But what hurt more was the overwhelming knowledge of how much he had hurt a person he truly did consider a friend.

"Forever. I guess it doesn't exist, though, does it? Remember, Harry? Remember what I said? I said I'd kill the person responsible. And if that's you… I won't ever stop until I do, Harry. Ever."

* * *

Warmth suffused him, melting the ice from his veins and soothing away his ability to feel pain. Ron had been painful to listen to. Between the emotional upheaval that had been going on for weeks in his mind, Bellatrix, and then Ron, he was worn thin. Harry wanted to sleep. He wondered if he could rip apart under the strain, fall into that darkness completely this time. He was a vampire now. Vampires were at home in the darkness, weren't they?

"Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry…"

Harry wanted to roll his eyes, but the warmth that cocooned him stayed his annoyance. "Hermione?"

He heard a squeak of surprise, a ruffled exhalation. The warmth had doubled in intensity now, and he was surprised that it wasn't uncomfortable. He felt serene. "Harry! Oh, Harry, are you alright? Well, this isn't really what I thought would happen…"

"What _is_ going on, Hermione?"

"We're getting you out, Harry, but no matter." She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. When she spoke again her voice was quiet and sincere, but it quickly gained in intensity. "Did you know, Harry, that you are my best friend? I would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked me to. I've killed… but so have you, haven't you? You understand this horrible wrenching, the sensation of the world falling away? I thought I would drown in my own misery, the knowledge of what I'd done. But you were there, Harry, you were there and that is all that mattered. You saved me, so many times over the years."

"You saved me too, you know," he said wryly, cutting into her rambling. "But honestly, what is going on--?"

"Don't interrupt me, Harry James Potter! I am far from done. I've had hours to plan what I would say, and I'll have you know that it is very _deep _and _heartfelt_ and you are going to listen!"

Harry went quiet, if only to save himself from the girl's screeching irritation. It felt like someone was scraping nails down a chalkboard inside of his head.

She harrumphed in indignation, but Harry was compelled by the waver of her voice as she went on. "You're everything to me Harry, don't you see? You _inspire_ people without even trying. I see the way you look at us sometimes, how you can't even figure out why we're still there. You never believed we would follow you. We're here though, aren't we? So… thank you, Harry. You've given us all something wonderful, even if times get hard. Neville and Luna, I know they think so too. Come back, now. Please, Harry."

Harry closed his eyes as her voice faded, basking in the warmth surrounding him.

* * *

"Potter."

The voice was familiar, but he couldn't place it. The shaking uneasy warped his perceptions, a constant feeling like there were accusing eyes on his back. "Yes?"

Irritation that was not his own danced across his senses. "You don't even know who I am, do you?"

"I know the voice, I can't place it," Harry said with blunt honesty, trying to pull away from the uncomfortable feeling in this place.

"I'm Zabini."

Ahh, well, that made sense. Harry shuddered as nails raked slowly down his back. "Right. Hello there?"

The nails dug in harder. "This isn't a game, Potter. If I had a choice in the matter, I wouldn't even be here. If I am a Death Eater, I will have access to the things I need to become a Necromancer. I _need_ to become one. All that is standing in my way is you."

"You've already heard my explanation, Zabini. What do you want to hear? Do you want me to describe how broken that child was, sitting a foot away from the scraps of his mother's corpse? Or do you want to know about how he whispered 'thank you' as I snapped his neck?"

Harry was suddenly glad for his new Vampirism, as cold fingers wrapped round his throat and squeezed. Breathing was something he was used to and he panicked momentarily as the ability to was taken away from him.

"Don't speak of him like that! Don't, Potter, you have no right. Even if he begged you…" Zabini's voice broke, a sound of pain strangled from his throat. "Do you have no concept of how important family is to those of Necromantic blood? We are disallowed from speaking to anyone not related to us by blood once we start our training. I only had my mum, her sister, and my cousin. He was a light in my life, squib or not. So bright, so wise. You snuffed him out… and I never got the chance to say goodbye!"

Harry felt something nearly like pity. "I am sorry for your loss, but I didn't do anything you should hate me for. Would you rather he had suffered for your happiness? So that you would have one more person to speak to once you were embroiled in your studies?"

The hands around his neck shuddered. "You don't understand, Potter. How can someone who has never had a family possibly understand?"

The barb hit home as the sensations of Zabini's pain and anger left him, and Harry closed his eyes.

* * *

"Tom?"

Harry's breath caught, seeing the familiar face for the first time in what seemed like weeks. Tom was standing stiffly in the void, arms tight to his sides and his face stony. He gave a jerky nod.

Harry didn't know what to expect, not after the last few encounters. He took an aborted step forward, his arm moving up a few inches before swaying back to his side. None of the others had been like this. They'd been a presence, not a physical manifestation. He couldn't feel anything from Tom, but he could see the familiar lines of his jaw, the graying strands at his temples. The quirk of his stance when he was trying to look unconcerned but was terribly angry.

"I don't understand what is happening, Tom. Are you going to get me out of here or not?"

Crimson eyes closed, and Harry watched his lover's jaw clench and unclench. It was long minutes before crimson eyes opened, burning fiercely. "Potter, you will wake up this bloody instant. Do you know the trouble you've caused?"

Harry wondered if it was a rhetorical question, and saw it was when Tom continued ranting, stalking toward him.

"Bloody selfish brat you are, pausing all my war efforts and making all your little sycophants mad with worry. No more, Potter! You will wake up and we will get the hell out of this damned school. The Great Hall smells like a byre with all those quivering little morons, and I refuse to wait around any longer!"

Tom had stopped in front of him, entire frame shaking. Harry supposed it was with anger until crimson eyes finally raised to meet his, expression raw. A hand fell onto Harry's shoulder and tightened, a painful grip that was like agony to his overwrought muscles. He wanted to say something, anything to banish the uncharacteristic look from Tom's face. The look on Tom's face was too much for him. But Harry couldn't find words to speak, staring instead at the way finely shaped lips had parted as Tom panted.

When they leaned forward and crushed against his own, Harry couldn't move. He let Tom pour everything he couldn't say into him, tongue dragging across the roof of his mouth and Harry swore it was sucking out his soul. He keened in the back of his throat, not wanting to move and upset the way Tom was leaning into him, the way he could practically feel everything the Dark Lord pretended he didn't.

When he finally pulled away, red eyes burnt hotter than ever. "You… you…" Tom's face twisted and a long, sibilant hiss left his lips before his other hand gripped Harry's other shoulder. "Fuck, Harry, do you have any idea how worried I was?! Wake your pitiful Gryffindor arse up this instant!"

With eyes wide, Harry's hands flew up to clench around the ones on his shoulders, just as the world fell away.

* * *

A/N: OH HAI THAR! Wow. This… wow.

**ANNOUNCEMENT!**

**The next chapter is the last, **followed by an exceptionally long epilogue.

No, seriously.

I didn't think I was so close. Right now I am shocked beyond belief, and kind of freaking out. This chapter was _**almost the very last**_, but I ended up leaving off here at 10k and decided to extend the next part to a full chapter instead of wrapping it all up now. Wow. We're really almost there, guys. I wanna cry.

For my 24th birthday (September 18th, today, WOOT) I am giving you all the gift of this chapter. Because you all are my motivation. Thank you so very much.

Thanks go to every one of you, but a super-special thanks goes to **Midnight Star 25 **for listening to me ramble endlessly on MSN and really solidifying who would go where (a scene was much inspired by her review, too), **Raine Ishida **for doing a super typo check so I could post it on my birthday, **The Silver Fallen **for listening to me ramble and whine endlessly, and to **Nimhotar, Itallia, Kamerreon, BeLlIxiEs, Nostalgic Beauty, ice-evanesco, Zauti**, and **everyone else **(if you feel I missed you, I'm very sorry… I'm trying to hurry to get this chapter out XD**)** who took the time to give me such wonderful, thought-provoking replies to my problem. I was so touched, and I still am. I am sorry I stopped being able to reply to them; I've been sick as a dog for two weeks and quite pathetic to boot.

I also have the first chapter nearly done to my next HPTR project, but I'll tell you all more about that at the end of Para. ;)

THANK YOU ALL! I can never express how much I love you!

Extra note, OMG! Go to my profile near the top for a link to my rendition of Mylläkkä. -blows kisses-

**EXTRA EXTRA NOTE AS OF 2/18/09!!!!!! **-- This isn't abandoned. Please, loves, give me time. If you can hold on, I'll get a chapter to you as soon as I can. Writer's block eats me still. Check my forum on this site (on my profile) for more info, and until then, just think of me!

Revised: 3/21/09 (Wow, finally finished. Now to write the next chapter. Thank you all for sticking by me, and crossx your fingers for my inspiration to stay!)


	39. Abnegate

Disclaimer: As this story begins to come towards its end, I still do not own the rights to HP & Co.

Warnings for some mini-smut. And lots of confusion if you haven't reread in a while. -__- I feel like such an awful person. But here's 10k for you, with the epilogue on its way within a week or two at most.

* * *

**Paraselenic**

_Abnegate // to refuse or deny oneself; reject; renounce; relinquish; give up._

* * *

Harry awoke with a gasp.

Sound didn't pause to wait for his acclimatization, instead roaring to meet him the second he broke consciousness. Angry voices, or one at least, hissing expletives that Harry couldn't quite make out. What was going on?

"This was supposed to fix him, Pierce! Why hasn't he awoken?!"

It was like swimming through mud. Harry tried to grasp at comprehension, hold it so that he wouldn't submerge once more into nothing. Lights and sensation swirled around his mind, a groan pausing in his throat and dissipating.

"It will take time, Voldemort. You are too impatient."

"This isn't about patience, you bloodsucking pain in my arse!"

Harry nearly found it in him to smile.

Tom was there.

Blackness came once more.

* * *

"Oh, Harry…"

Harry looked up tiredly into pale blue eyes, the white of the Hospital Wing spreading a halo of light around Dumbledore's head. He let his eyes fall shut.

"Did it have to turn out this way, my dear boy?"

His eyelids felt like lead, and opening them was an epic production. His breath wheezed as he forced himself to see, meeting the age-hardened lines of Dumbledore's face. "What are you doing here?"

Rough fingers ran across his cheekbone, and Harry remembered the years he had looked up to this man. Cherished him. Exalted him. For a moment he felt like he was eleven again, lying in bed recovering after having stopped Voldemort from gaining the Philosopher's stone. Gentle eyes twinkled down at him, but the memories of the intervening years cast long shadows on Harry's perception.

"Get your hands off of me."

Dumbledore's lips pursed, but he withdrew his hand, moving to link his hands in front of him. "Ah, Harry… you've grown up so much. Where did I go wrong?"

The fuzziness of the sedative potions Poppy had forced down his throat was fading, and Harry pushed himself up onto his elbows. A rivulet of hair tumbled across his vision, and Harry shook his head to push it away. "It wasn't your job to raise me; I am my own person. I was never yours, not your weapon or your pawn or your Merlin-be-damned grandchild. Believing I was yours to do with as you pleased was your biggest mistake."

Dumbledore grimaced, the wrinkles in his forehead deepening. "Perhaps… perhaps you are right, Harry. But was this path really the right one?"

"Right… wrong… it is subjective, don't you think? Was it right of you to do the things you did to me? Was it right to brainwash thousands?"

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes. "Is it right to kill, Harry? To plot with the greatest evil of our time for world domination? My crimes are paltry in comparison."

"To you."

Harry watched the way the old wizard's jaw trembled, but then his shoulders sagged, a defeated huff of air leaving him. "You have grown so much, my boy. I am sorry that I failed you so."

"I don't consider it a failure. I am quite happy with how my life turned out."

A twitch of a creased mouth, a lightening of blue eyes. "I suppose you are stronger than I was. I could never have come so far as you. I..." he frowned now, pale blue eyes searching Harry's face. "Am I odd to feel proud of you? I do not condone your actions, I do not like being defeated, and I certainly do not wish this was the way things had ended. And yet... I am proud of you, my boy. For being strong enough to build your own path, even though it conflicts with my own."

Harry couldn't respond to that, staring with wide eyes at the smiling eyes of Albus Dumbledore. He stood, his hand moving once more to brush the hair from Harry's forehead. Harry didn't move as a finger traced his scar.

"I wish you luck, Harry. In all you do. I wish you to be the temperance Tom could never find, and I wish you happiness for all that I do not know how you could possibly find it."

"H-Headmaster..."

Another smile, heartbreakingly wide. "May you have the peace I was never able to afford you."

The door to the hospital wing banged open, the vision of blue robes and eyes dissipating into nothing. Had it been a hallucination?

"Harry!"

Hermione ran at him, leaping onto his bed and clinging to his neck. Harry awkwardly patted her hair. "Erm..." he said, throat scratchy.

"Oh Merlin, you had us all so worried! Are you feeling alright? You look like shite. Oh, it will be dawn soon and we've got to get you into a safe room. It's been _hours_, Harry, and Voldemort is angry and the students are without hope--"

"Hermione!" Her jaw clicked shut. "What is going on?"

"You've been out all night between the spell and the ritual. Everyone is still cloistered in the Great Hall. You do remember the ritual, don't you?"

He jerked through a nod, pushing her off of him and swinging his legs off of the bed. The ground tilted.

"No, no, don't try to move on your own. You lost so much blood; you can't expect to move yet. I just needed to get away from the hall. Malfoy is insufferable, isn't he?! He was driving me batty with his whinging, and I just knew I had to be close to you so I could calm down. But I can go back, tell Professor Pierce and V-Voldemort that you're awake and they'll come for you. Or maybe Professor McGonagall," she gasped, "Did you know McGonagall was a Death Eater, Harry? How could you not tell me? It was so shocking, I feel like I don't know who she is anymore! Oh, Harry, people are so upset..."

He raised his hands to his ears to block out her babbling, several successive attempts at calling her name going unheeded. After long moments of an agonizing throbbing with the rising and falling tones of her voice, Harry remembered the potion and grasped his feeling of her, yanking on it like a leash until she subsided. He groaned.

He heard her hiss from beside him, then listened other footsteps move quickly across the room. "Why didn't you say your head hurt? Oh, I'm sorry, Harry..." she pressed a pain-relief potion into his hands, ducking to look into his eyes.

He sighed and thumbed out the bit of cork stopping the bottle, tipping back as he drank. The relief worked on both his throat and his headache, instantly soothing both. He melted back into his pillows for a moment.

Hermione's fingers were running through his hair, her breathing and heartbeat calmed now. He listened to the steady rhythm with half an ear as he collected his thoughts, compartmentalizing them and trying to make sense of the night. It felt like months since he had awoken.

He had shot the Killing Curse at Albus Dumbledore in front of the entire student body of Hogwarts. Impossible to forget that. Harry stifled a groan. How could his perfectly laid plans have crumbled so easily? He had finally stopped being cocky and taking notice of his surroundings, finally gained real appreciation for his mission... and he'd botched it. How unlucky was he?

But there was no use in moping about it, there were more important things. He'd woken in that strange alternative world after Dumbledore had hit him with that spell – he needed to see what that spell was, damnit – and that had been... hell. How could something that had seemed so perfect while he was immersed feel so sickening to him now? Being some little pawn was not a happy idea to him, nor was being the whipping boy of the entire Wizarding world. He'd practically been taking it up the arse from them all for his entire life! It was revolting.

He remembered the shade of his mother, the fond smile as she sang and the way she'd spun him as a child. Perhaps... the fantasy hadn't been all terrible. He pushed the melancholy away that threatened him at that.

Then the world had taken a dark turn, forcing him to die at the hands of some strange shade of Voldemort. That had been ridiculous. And... disturbing. Harry quickly ignored his waking, the visions of his parents and Sirius, the way he'd broken down at Lily's feet, saving any contemplation on that for some time in the far, far future.

And then he had been confronted by Dante, Hermione, Bellatrix, Blaise, Ron, and Tom. A ritual, Hermione had said. He didn't have enough information on that to made any kind of judgment on it, and that bothered him. Harry very much disliked being uninformed. And then he had finally woken into what he could only assume was finally reality, speaking to a dead man.

He swore to himself that he would never, ever take a slow and content life for granted again.

He sat up again, slowly this time, taking a moment to look towards the dark pre-dawn sky. He was a vampire now, entirely. He wouldn't see the sun again for a century unless he was keen on being fried to a crisp. A _century_. It wasn't the most terrible loss he could endure, but he had a feeling it would seem quite a large one as the years went by.

Hermione sat straight beside him, lower lip caught between her teeth. "Are you alright now?"

He nodded. "I am. I need to get into the Great Hall, though, before Tom does something stupid."

"If he hasn't yet he can wait a few more minutes. He's..." she paused and glanced at the door in hesitation. "He's been beside himself."

Harry scoffed and stood, wobbly but without any great trouble. "He overreacts to everything. Mark my words, within an hour he will be back to his old, terrorizing self, scaring his minions and harping on me for not standing straight enough."

She hummed. "I don't doubt it."

He started towards the door, pausing with his hand on the rail of a nearby bed. "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Have you ever heard of the word _Loçkë_? It's some kind of a nickname."

Hermione tapped a finger against her lips. "Cannot say that I have, Harry. What is it?"

"Nothing," he said. "Nothing important."

"I'll look it up if you like?"

"No rush."

As he began walking to the door once more, Hermione caught up to his side. "I can't say this is what I expected for you, Harry, but I'm happy anyway. I can see that you love him."

"Love?" he said with a chuckle.

"You might be able to fool a lot of people, Harry James Potter, but I'm not one of them."

He shrugged in a slow motion, curving and trotting down a staircase. "Maybe so. That is far from the largest of my issues right now, though."

"I didn't say it was. I just wanted you to know I was happy for you."

He smiled faintly, slowing to a stop and turning. "You're a good friend, Hermione. Thank you."

She smiled, but it was shadowed with fatigue and pain. "Tell that to Ron. I don't think he'll recover from this."

"I never thought any of you would."

He started walking again, not wishing to be caught in maudlin reverie. Ron was another problem he would shove away as far into the future as he could.

The Great Hall was quiet as he approached, and Death Eaters stiffened when they caught sight of him. He was still bed-rumpled and his hair was disheveled, but Harry couldn't find a thing in the world he cared less about at the moment. Hogwarts was a school, not a war zone. It made him uneasy to have it tainted with his army.

They parted for him as he approached, leaving him with a clear view into the hall. Tom sat with narrowed eyes on Minerva McGonagall – honestly? Of all people, her? – at the Head Table, fingers drumming on the tabletop. They spoke in low tones that hummed through the room, silent students dozing against one another or on the house tables. Many began knocking their friends awake, though, when he was spotted in the doorway, hand flipping back his cumbersome hair.

It didn't take more than half a moment for Tom to zero in on him, crimson eyes blazing. He stood with tense finality and circled the table, coming to rest at the end of the aisle, staring at Harry with heat.

Harry moved, one foot in front of the other until he was only a foot away from Tom, lips tilted in a lopsided grin. "Miss me, Tom?"

Long fingers gripped the front of his robes, yanking him forward hard. For an inane moment, Harry thought for sure Tom was going to kiss him in front of the entire Great Hall. When he was merely snarled at, Harry had to choke down a laugh at himself. Right. Like Tom was really that much of a sap.

"Are you whole?"

"Erm... yes?"

Tom shook him jerkily. "Unacceptable. Are you whole and unharmed, Potter?"

He gave an irritable glare, reaching out to push at Tom's chest. "As unharmed as one can be with the shite I've been through in the last few hours. Can we get the hell out of here, Tom? I'm sure you've got everything settled by now."

Wary eyes trailed over his face, flicked down his body. Tom's jaw was set but the barely noticeable shake in his hands told Harry all he needed to know, made his heart clench.

"I would be better prepared to ascertain his well-being if you released him, Lord Voldemort."

A glare to the side, lips thinning to nothing. "Pierce, get it over with."

Dante's familiar smirk was a relief, a balm on the fried state of his mind. He'd only just noticed how utterly exhausted he was, how much he wanted to crawl away and sleep for a week. The sky was slowly lightening according to the ceiling, and he knew he didn't have much time left. But Dante just flicked his wand once, eyes following whatever it was the spell told him. He have a small nod. "He is fine."

"Fine? Mentally, physically? He is unharmed and unchanged?"

Harry was getting quite irritated at the questions, but a cooling of Dante's eyes kept him quiet. "I cannot judge his mind. Effects may yet present themselves. However, he is more himself than anything else."

It was only months of intimate knowledge that let Harry see the change in Tom's posture to signify his acceptance and appreciation of the answer. "Good. Well, Potter?"

He looked around the hall slowly, at the faces that stared at him in fear and betrayal. He glanced towards the staff table where McGonagall had taken over the chair of the Headmaster, the drawn faces of the people he had known for so many years. They needed some tincture of normalcy if they were to recover. He nodded. "Ready when you are, Tom."

A nod to Minerva had her closing her eyes, and Harry had no sooner noticed before Tom's arms were wrapping themselves around his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his clothes. And they were gone with a deafening crack, Harry's last view of Hogwarts being of Minerva McGonagall, tendrils of hair snaking around her face and sitting like a queen on her throne for whom all was right in the world.

* * *

The familiar buzz of Riddle Manor's wards enveloped him as they reappeared in Tom's office. Harry sagged back against the arms that held him, taking in the destruction of the room. Papers were strewn over the desk and across the floor; an end table was reduced to splinters. Tom had lost his temper in here recently, and Harry didn't need more than a single guess to know why.

Tom's voice was hoarse when he spoke, grating and purring against Harry's ear. "If you ever do something that monumentally stupid again, I swear I will hang you by your toenails."

"Stupid?" Harry scoffed. "That was every day fare for Harry bloody Potter. I don't even know what in the hell happened most of the time."

Tom finally released his hold on Harry's waist, stepping around him and glaring. "I feel much the same. I want answers, Potter. How did you manage to be outed to the school? What in Salazar's name possessed you to fire a Killing Curse on Hogwarts grounds in view of half the Light population?" He slunk for his desk, sliding into his chair and raising an imperious eyebrow at Harry.

With much less grace, Harry dropped into the chair opposite Tom's desk, his wand flicking towards the window at the man's back to set a shade over it. Dawn would break soon. "I dunno, seemed like a good idea at the time. He had me at wandpoint, the room was in shock... I was about to lose my chance entirely, so I thought it would be best to at least take a stab at offing the bastard."

"Red and gold?" Tom said, scowling at the curtains. Harry gave an unrepentant grin and Tom flicked his wand, changing them over to green and silver before sighing. "In any case, you are quite possibly the most ignorant brat I've ever encountered."

Harry hummed and shot Tom a grin. "It worked, didn't it? After all those years of escaping you, I've gotten good at using my Gryffindor instincts. Hasn't failed me yet."

Tom ran a hand over his face, a muffled chuckle escaping his throat. "Only you, Potter."

"Why don't you enlighten me to what the hell happened while I was out? What spell did Dumbledore hit me with?"

"Shut up, Potter, I'll tell you what you need to know." Tom pushed back in his chair and tilted up his head. "You were, apparently, put under a spell intended for forming slaves."

Harry jerked in his seat.

"It puts you into a parody of a perfect life, lulls you into contentment, then pulls it out from under you. Immediately after, you are bombarded with as much emotional and physical pain as possible in an attempt to pull you under the control of the caster. You are made to..." Tom trailed off with a dark sneer, "repent for your shortcomings or face death."

"Well, I'm thinking that I'm not dead. Why's that, do ya think?"

"Perhaps your Vampirism had something to do with it, I can't be sure. The spell was intended for humans."

Harry nodded slightly. "Hmm, makes sense. I wonder if my visit from Dumbledore after was a side-effect?"

It was Tom's turn to jerk, posture straightening as he glared at Harry. "'After'? When did you see Dumbledore?"

He waved a hand dismissively. "In the hospital wing. Don't get your knickers in a twist, Tom, it was nothing."

Tom's glare was glacial, but he quickly moved on. "There was a ritual involved to wake you in an attempt to keep you from losing yourself. Your Marquis came to oversee it."

"Valerian was here? Why didn't he stay?"

Tom shrugged. "You would have to ask Pierce. I had no part in that. Speaking of Pierce, I will have to return to Hogwarts tomorrow to make sure there is no rebellion and to set wards around the building. We can't have children writing their families with news of Harry Potter's betrayal after all. We need to get the Ministry under control first."

"The Ministry?" Harry leaned forward and settled his elbows on the desk. "Have plans advanced so far already?"

"They've had to be accelerated with new developments. Fudge stumbled upon knowledge he should not have had and was taken captive. The Ministry is in an uproar and now is the most opportune time to strike."

Harry nodded vaguely, eyes trailing off to stare at a mirror on the office's wall. "I suppose you're right. What do you intend to do, then? Surely we cannot simply occupy the building and hope to keep it. Opposition is thin right now, but that doesn't make them harmless."

"Obviously, Potter. We will implement a new Minister from our own forces and keep a guard to weed out any who think to work against us. Many will die and be replaced by sympathizers. I have no qualms against forcibly pushing the situation into our favor."

Harry hummed and looked down at his hands, admiring his tanned skin. It wouldn't last long. One hundred years without sunlight would bleach his skin white, and even after the sun was uncomfortable. It took hundreds of years for a vampire to feel at ease in the sun. Harry sighed.

"What are you moping about?"

Harry shrugged without looking away. "I'm not _moping_. I'm just thinking of the changes to come. I never had hopes for immortality, and I'm already wondering whether it is more a curse or a gift." Harry could practically hear Tom roll his eyes.

They sat in silence for long moments, Harry's eyes feeling bruised and heavy. As a vampire, he needed very little sleep, but when hungry it was always worse. It felt like he hadn't fed in weeks, though he knew it had really only been a bit over a day.

"We will return to Hogwarts tomorrow evening for business. I need to see Minerva's plans for the future."

"McGonagall, hmm? How long?"

"Minnie has been in my service for nigh on sixty years. The perfect spy: a Gryffindor, trusted and loved by Dumbledore, unwaveringly loyal. Rather than feeding me information like Severus was tasked to do many years later, Minerva was to dismantle and pull apart plans from inside. She has been working for years to make sure everything turned out just as I wished it to."

Harry shook his head. "I can't see it. She's _McGonagall _for Merlin's sake! I can't believe you never told me."

"Why bother? Would it have changed anything if you had known?"

"S'pose not." Harry stretched his arms over his head and moaned out a long sigh. "I'm knackered. I can't go out to get anything to eat until nightfall. Got plans for the day?"

"Lucius is setting the stage for the Ministry, and I don't plan to reenter Hogwarts until you can accompany me. There is little to do today."

Harry grinned and leaned over the table, lips curved wickedly. "I think I can find something for us to do."

Tom raised an eyebrow, tongue running over his lower lip. "Oh? Enlighten me, Potter."

Harry leaned over the desk and proceeded with his _enlightenment, _pressing himself viciously against Tom and tangling his fingers in his hair.

* * *

Hot breath fanned over the back of his neck, raising the hairs on end. The glide of skin against skin, the way fingers dug into the jut of his hips. This was heaven. This was the way life was meant to be.

Long fingers carded through his hair, trailing down his spine, and Harry pushed back into the languid movements of his lover. He groaned as Tom chuckled, and cool lips trailed along his shoulder blade. Slow thrusts were driving him mad, but a firm grip kept him from speeding the movements.

"We should be leaving soon, Loçkë..."

Harry whined, arching his back. "Then get on with it, damnit. You're driving me mad."

"So impatient..." Those fingers wrapped around his thighs, spreading him apart and pushing down his neck. "What do you want, then?"

He groaned, tossing his head. "Go _faster_!"

His prayers were answered as the pace was quickened, leaving Harry to grip at the bedsheets and clench his eyes closed. He concentrated on Tom's racing pulse, the scent of sweat-slicked skin and musk, the blunt scrape of nails against Harry's skin. Could there honestly be more to life than this? Was there something beyond the perfection of joining into a single being, panting in unison, climbing up the rungs of pleasure? Harry felt his muscles jerk as a hand slid beneath him and _tugged_ and oh, Merlin, colors seemed to dance behind his eyelids and he was screaming...

He came to slowly, the weight of Tom's body against his back comforting. He listened to his lover's slow breathing, the barely noticeable hitch with every third breath. All day they had moved between carnal pleasure and bouts of sleep, lazing the daylight hours away. But there was tension there underneath the fierce kisses and the content caresses, and Harry tried his damndest to ignore it. They had always used sex as a way to keep from saying that which needed to remain silent, but the tension felt like it was suffocating him, slowly but surely draining away the exhausted post-orgasmic bliss.

Harry shifted and Tom rolled to the side, leaving Harry sticky and no longer content to just stay in bed. If he stayed, he would do something stupid... like talk. And in his current frame of mind, talking was not an intelligent thing to do with Tom.

"We really do need to be leaving," Tom grumbled, arm thrown over his eyes.

"Is there a rush? I need to take a shower."

Harry shivered as a grin stretched Tom's thin lips, teeth bared. "Ah, now there's an idea."

"I thought we were in a hurry? Merlin, old man, you're outlasting _me_ today. One would think you'd missed me."

Tom stood in a smooth movement, fingers putting his hair back into order. "Shut up, Potter, and get in the bathroom. Now."

Normally the command would have brought out Harry's defiant side, at least begging some kind of snark in return. But Harry had seen the brief, consternated widening of eyes, the way Tom had tensed before forcibly relaxing himself. And that was all the confession Harry needed.

Besides, he was the one with the extra strength in the relationship. Just who did Tom think would be holding up whom?

* * *

They Apparated to the edge of the wards together, dressed in the most elegant robes possible without wearing dress robes. Harry thought it was overblown grandeur, but he went along with it out of amusement. Tom strode towards the castle almost immediately, and Harry wondered at how it must have felt for him to finally return. For so long he had been kept out by the ill-will wards, only allowed to return now that he had no enemy remaining in the castle that he wished death upon. With Harry's alliance and Dumbledore's death, Tom was free to visit the place that had began his journey. Tom made no move to show he was glad, but Harry knew him well enough to know that he was satisfied.

According to Tom, the students' wands would not be returned until he spoke to the school as a whole, but they had been allowed back to their dorms the night before under watch. The teachers, however, had been kept in the Great Hall to ensure they wouldn't get any half-cocked ideas about contacting anyone outside.

Harry could hear the heartbeats of the castle's inhabitants centered in the Great Hall, hundreds of people who were likely terrified and wary. Harry's mouth watered against his will, but he had been sure to feed before they arrived. It wouldn't do to make an even bigger scene, after all.

They stood at the doors side by side, and Harry tipped a fond smile in Tom's direction. "Going for terrifying or charismatic, Mister Riddle?"

Tom seemed to ponder this, a long finger raising to run over his lower lip. "I think they've been suitably terrified. Now it is time to turn up the charm."

He didn't argue when Harry pushed an arm through his, linking their elbows. "Then let's wow them, shall we?"

A wave of combined magic sent the doors swinging open, and the expected hundreds of heads swung towards them. Harry smirked as he led Tom up the aisle, bowing his head to the wide-eyed panic of the students. His eyes met Draco's across the room and Harry blew him a mocking kiss, getting a middle finger jabbed in his direction for the trouble.

His eyes moved towards the Gryffindor table, eyes trailing over Hermione, Luna, and Neville where they sat at the farthest end, other students giving them a wide berth. All three sent him a smile, though the degrees of emotion behind them varied. He noted the absence of Ron from the room and wondered where he was, but now was not a time for that. Ginny was there, though, wide eyes red-rimmed and furious. He looked away.

Minerva McGonagall was still sitting in Dumbledore's chair, dark hair fixed back into her severe bun. But there was a light in her eyes Harry had never seen before, a brightness that spoke of fulfilled ambitions and dreams come true. It made her seem years younger.

Tom gave a half bow. "Minnie. I trust there were no problems?"

"Of course not, my lord. Some... opinions seem to differ from our own, but it has been nothing that I cannot handle."

Tom smirked and nodded. "Well done, Minerva." He turned from her and towards the cowering students, and Harry let go of his arm and took a step to the side. "Greetings, students. I am Lord Voldemort." This was Tom's forte, not his. He slid towards where his friends sat clustered, slipping onto the bench as Tom began.

"Evening, Harry. You're..." Neville paused and gnawed on his lips. "You're better now, aren't you? You gave us a scare, mate."

"--your wands will be returned in due time and you will be allowed to return to your families when I see fit. Change is upon you all--"

Hermione shushed him and lowered her voice to a whisper. "I don't think Voldemort would appreciate us distracting from his speech."

"Likely not," Harry said dryly. He smiled to Neville. "I'm fine now. Still a bit foggy... and I'm going to miss daylight... but it's not so bad. I'm alive at least, hmm?"

"The trials aren't over yet, Harry," Luna hummed. "But I'm glad you're well. Not that I doubted you, the Wrackspurt was quite clear that you'd be fine."

Hermione glared at her. "Now is not the time for your imaginary friends, Luna."

"Err--" Neville cut himself off as those glaring brown eyes cut into him.

"Hermione, I think Luna knows more than we give her credit for." She glared in exasperation, but Harry raised a hand. "Seriously. She knows too much most of the time for it to be in her head."

"--forget what you think you know, as prosperity will never come from holding onto the outdated ideals of the past--"

"Oh, the Wrackspurts don't go in _my_ head. What do you think my radishes are for? They tell me quite enough anyway, though."

Harry struggled to word his question in a way that he wouldn't get a vague answer. "And how... did the Wrackspurts know those things?"

She smiled at him and he wondered if he should be afraid. Her eyes were as dazed and dreamy as ever, but that smile held a million words. "Because they know everything, of course. The dead have little else to do but gossip."

Harry tore his eyes away, trying to make sense of it. So... the Wrackspurts were dead people? He honestly didn't understand, not that he'd admit to that.

"--Attempts to defy me will send you early to your graves. I can be summoned in a moment to this place, and I do not take treachery lightly. There is no resistance. Your Headmaster is dead, your Savior is my right hand. Your Minister is captured. Your hope is gone. But with a new regime comes a new life, and those brave enough, smart enough, strong enough to stand at my side shall be rewarded beyond their wildest dreams. I will return hope to the Wizarding world and ensure our survival--"

Harry turned back to his friends and smiled, Tom's voice fading into the background. They were watching him now as was everyone in the rest of the hall, expressions ranging from fear and disgust to undisguised amazement.

_Only the binding of the Two can ensure the world's survival__..._

* * *

It was dark. Even with all the enhanced senses that Vampirism gave him, Harry could see nothing in the gloom surrounding him. The air was creeping around him with insidious tentacles, twisting around his limbs and seizing him by the throat. His quarry had escaped him in this blackness, but Harry knew that he only had to wait. A werewolf's vision in the dark was no better than his own.

A faint exhalation to his left. Harry sprung between the trees, a branch scraping across his face. That was of no consequence, though. He pulled his dagger even as he heard the wolf shift, the paws of the abomination skittering across the forest's floor. The blade made contact with it, though it hadn't been a vital hit. The wolf yowled and dashed blindly into the suffocating darkness, but now it was no longer silent. Harry relied on his hearing to guide him through the trees, cursing the lack of the moon.

A tree's trunk caught his shoulders, wrenching a hiss of pain from his throat. But he couldn't slow. Though its mind may be feral right now, the human would remember what it had seen come morning. It couldn't be allowed to live with what it had seen. Tom would have his ass if he didn't take out his target, not with the date that they would seize the Ministry in the wolf's head.

But damn if it wasn't dark.

The wolf's stamina was far better than his, so Harry knew he had to end things quickly. He focused all his senses on the panting breath, arm arcing back as he threw the blade. The yelp let him know his projectile had hit its mark, and Harry ran to the noise. He could hardly see the form of the fallen wolf, but he had enough sense to approach it from its back. Werewolf venom was poisonous to Vampires. With one hand he seized its muzzle and with the other he poised his second dagger to its neck. "Nothing against you, puppy, but it's a dog-eat-dog world out there, ya know? Not that I'll eat you, seeing as I'm not a dog..."

Harry chuckled at his joke as he slit its throat, yanking his hands back to avoid the blood. He cleaned the blades of his weapons on the grass. It was time to feed now, then back to Tom.

* * *

Harry walked down the column of Death Eaters, fingers twitching on his wand. This was to be one of the most important days in their insurrection and there couldn't be a single mistake. He would personally slaughter anyone who ruined this day.

"Are you satisfied, Potter?"

Harry huffed an exasperated sigh, glaring over his shoulder at Voldemort. "Are you really so unconcerned? If this goes wrong…"

"It won't go wrong."

"You're far too confident." The Death Eaters stopped breathing as he turned back towards them, gleaming eyes training over them with tension. Harry flicked his wand at a man who met his eyes, sending him to the ground in screams. It made him feel better.

It was June now, and they could not put off their plans for any longer. Rufus Scrimgeour had been placed as Interim Minister of Magic and would soon have a good handle on the hysteria caused by months without leadership or word from the Hogwarts students. The Aurors were few and scattered, the hierarchy in chaos. There would never be a more opportune moment.

Voldemort had stood; Harry could tell by the hushed inhalation through the room. "We depart now for the Ministry. After this day, Magical Britain will be ours. Are you ready?"

The cheer made Harry close his eyes. This was it.

* * *

"Everyone's in panic, Harry. Gran is having fits from all the things that have gone wrong. First the Minister was taken, then she thought I was taken captive, then V-Voldemort got the Ministry. She's a bit on edge, and she's in good spirits compared to most people."

Harry nodded, toying with his quill. "It's to be expected. But we've got a good grip on things, it shouldn't be too long now until it settles. Any word on a resistance?"

"Not yet, but it isn't like anyone would tell me. Word hasn't gotten out about my part in the Hogwarts stuff, but that won't stay so for long. Gran's going to kill me, Harry." Neville shifted and gnawed on his thumbnail, brow drawn.

"You can say I used _Imperio_ on you if you want. I'll back you up."

"No..." Neville trailed off and inhaled a large breath. "No. I'm strong enough to live with my choices. Gran-- Gran will just have to live with them, too."

Harry set down his quill and smiled faintly. "Thank you, Neville. You've been a great friend through this. Will you be going back to Hogwarts?"

"Of course! I can't be a Medi-Wizard without my NEWTS. It might be a little difficult, but I think Professor McGonagall will keep everyone who returns in line."

"I'm sure you're right. You'll keep an eye on Luna, won't you?"

"Even if you didn't want me to."

That provoked a grin from Harry and left Neville stuttering out denials for a good few minutes. It was just too amusing to get to the boy. But soon enough it was time for a meeting with the new Minister of Magic, and Harry waved Neville towards the fireplace. "Alright, I'll talk to you next week, Neville. Keep yourself safe."

"I will. Bye, Harry."

Harry pushed away his papers and make his way down the hall to the office. He had taken over the small sitting room to meet with his friends in, but he could never get any actual work done out of Tom's office. The most he could do was make lists of things he _needed_ to get done, a habit which made Tom sneer at him more often than not.

But then, Tom had been doing that a lot lately.

He pushed open the door and made a face when he saw the entirety of Voldemort's inner circle gathered in the room, immediately glaring at the back of Bellatrix's head. No matter his argument Tom refused to off the cow. She was no longer needed and utterly mad, but neither of these things seemed to sway him.

"Potter. Lucius should be here momentarily, so please sit down."

He nodded at Tom and sucked up an irritated sigh, sliding into the seat beside him. He moved a hand to trace patterns on Tom's hand only to have his fingers smacked away.

The door opened again and Lucius Malfoy strode through, head tilted up proudly with a wicked gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

"Welcome, Lucius. Or should I say Minister Malfoy?" Tom purred, a slow grin stretching his own face. It had been a coup, easier than it had had any right to be. And the remains of the Wizengamot had voted Lucius into position with hardly any persuasion.

"Minister Pretty, how good to see you," said Harry with a grin, wiggling his fingers in greeting. "Power looks good on you."

Snape snorted from his right, but Harry ignored him.

"What is the reaction to Potter's allegiance, Lucius?" Tom pulled out the main reason for their meeting immediately, steepling his fingers in front of him.

"Mixed at best. Many of their hands are stayed with the knowledge, but many more are outraged. It will take time for reality to set in on them."

A feminine snort set Harry's teeth on edge. "Ickle baby betrayer has them angry?"

"Enough, Bella," Tom warned, waving his hand. "Do you foresee any resistance to this change?"

"Undoubtedly. But it is not well organized and it will take many years for it to be such."

"If I may, my lord?" Rabastan said from Bellatrix's left. "Perhaps some of the un-outed Death Eaters should try to infiltrate these pockets of insurrection. Getting in this early will make it much easier to subvert them."

Tom nodded slowly. "A good point. I shall look over lists of names that may be of use. Potter? Any word from your little band of children?"

He rolled his eyes. "Nothing yet. When the school year starts there will be more information."

"Poor baby Potter, without even a use to my lord."

"_Enough,_ Bella." If the annoyance in Tom's tone hadn't been so great, he would have cursed the bitch. "McNair, have you a report from Azkaban?"

Harry settled back in his chair, stewing silently. Useless? Hardly! He was integral to the newly crowned "High Minister" Voldemort's operations.

...Right?

* * *

Harry swirled his tea with a frown, adding another dollop of cream.

"Harry, you will meet your end if you keep adding spoon after spoon to that concoction." Narcissa was sipping her own tea with her legs crossed at the knee, one delicate hand laid over them.

"Hmm?" He glanced up and her and back down again, grimacing at the pale state of his tea. "Oh, I think I wasn't paying attention."

"Obviously not. What has you in such a state, Harry?"

He shrugged. "Nothing, Cissy. I'm just a bit underworked at the moment. Idle minds are the devil's playground and all that."

"The what? Where in the world do you get these ridiculous sayings, love?" She scoffed as she set down her cup, moving to lean on her hand. "Muggle nonsense, no doubt."

Harry blushed faintly. "Yeah, well..."

A house elf popped into the room and fidgeted, shooting nervous glances at Harry every few moments. It was a natural reaction to a predator being in such close vicinity. "Mistress, there is being Missus Zabini in the Floo, there is. Would Mistress be liking Citty to be bringing her?"

Narcissa took a glance to Harry and received a nod. "Oh, fine. Bring her over."

A quick nod had the elf popping away and a slightly frowning Narcissa staring at the place it had been. "What in Morgana's name could Zinnia want?"

"It isn't usual to entertain now that you're the Minister's wife?"

"Of course it is," she said with a huff, but Harry could see the glow that returned to her upon mentioning her new status. "But Zinnia has rarely been known to show up unannounced."

A knock at the parlor door later and Zinnia was sweeping in, dark hair adorned with bells. "Narcissa. Mister Potter." Her glare was lessened by the apathy she kept around her, and Harry knew it was more likely the revelation of his identity than anything. He bowed his head lightly. "I apologize for the lack of notice."

"Nonsense. Will you join us for tea, Zinnia?" Narcissa said politely, tipping her head towards the tea service.

"No, I was only here to pass along a message. It seems fortuitous that the very person I wished to see was already here."

Harry sat up a bit and raised an eyebrow. "For me, then?"

"Of course." The Lady Zabini sat down on a free chair, smoothing her robes around her knees. "You spared my son. I owe you a boon for this and I will see it paid in full."

Harry waved a hand. "I don't need a boon. It was convenience more than mercy, I am sad to admit. He had his own reasons for his actions and I had mine."

Zinnia pursed her lips. "Regardless, I would like this debt to be settled. I do not like to owe others."

"I don't—"

Narcissa sighed from his side. "There's no dissuading her, Harry, so there is little use in trying. What do you offer, Zinnia?"

The woman shook her head, the gold baubles tinkling lightly against her dark cheeks. "I offer truth. Mister Potter is unsettled and the world hangs in balance over his head. Is there nothing you wish to know?"

Harry surged to his feet, instinct taking him a step away from her. "No. No Seer crap."

"'Seer crap'? I assure you I am not a Seer, Potter. Sit down and mind your elders."

He seethed. "And you should mind your betters, woman."

"Please, both of you, not in my parlor," Narcissa breathed, rubbing the bridge of her nose delicately.

"I have Necromantic blood, Potter. The dead influence the lives of the living continuously, and I see that my nephew has found his peace and left your side. I cannot raise the dead nor communicate with them, but I can be a medium through which they speak. Is there no one whom you wish to hear from?"

Weight seemed to crash down on Harry's shoulders, and he sat heavily. Speak to anyone? His mother, his father... Sirius... he clenched his teeth. No, he shouldn't. Bad things came from dwelling on death and pain. But...

"Sirius Black."

Narcissa inhaled sharply, but Zinnia only nodded. "So it shall be."

Dark eyes fluttered closed as Harry watched, and he could practically _feel_ the magic swirl around her. When the eyes opened once more they were white, pupil and iris-less, staring towards him. "Harry?"

The voice was Zinnia's, but the lilt was anything but. "Hello, Sirius."

"Good Merlin, Prongslet, what in the hell have you been up to?!"

He gave a stiff smile. "A lot more than you can imagine."

Zinnia's brow fell into a pouting moue, an expression that looked so utterly wrong on her face that Harry would have laughed in any other situation. "So... the Dark Lord, huh?"

Harry did laugh now, dry and slightly hysterical. "Yeah."

"Why did you call for me, Harry? What do you need?"

"I..." Why had he? He closed his eyes to block out Zinnia Zabini's face, his mind easily transforming her soft voice into Sirius's rough bass. "I just needed to know that you had found peace."

"Oh, Prongslet. I'm fine. Lily and James are, too. Remus is here with Tonks; did you know my little cousin had a crush on him? Poor Moony." Sirius barked a laugh. Harry felt badly that he hadn't even known she was dead. "Seriously... we don't really get all that you're doing... but we're at your side every moment. Nothing could make us love you less, kiddo."

And that was all Harry needed, and the magic stilled the instant he thought that. He didn't bother looking at Narcissa or Zinnia, raising from his seat and walking from the room, trying to reign in the emotions that had been ripped from him. He needed time alone.

He was nearly to the edge of the wards when Draco found him, broom between his legs. "What are you doing here, Potter?"

"I was having tea with your mother."

The boy scoffed. "Is that really what's become of you now? You have tea with the wives? My god, Potter!"

He wasn't in the mood for banter, so Harry simply glared and continued walking until he could Apparate away.

* * *

Harry's fingers clenched around the book he was reading, closing his eyes as he realized it was the seventh time he had attempted the same sentence. He couldn't concentrate.

"Harry?"

"Yes?" He turned towards her voice, forcing on a tight smile as Hermione pushed open the library door. "Need something?"

She shook her head. "No. I was just looking for you."

He turned back to the book – it was a good one on the theories behind wandless magic, he shouldn't have had so much trouble reading it – and watched the text fuzz together in front of him. He heard Hermione settle into the armchair across from him and flip through a few pages in a book of her own. But he knew the silence wouldn't last long.

"Do you remember when you asked me to look up that word back at Hogwarts? _Loçkë_?"

Harry hummed an affirmative, running his fingers over the binding.

"I found it finally. Obscure word; Albanian, actually." She began thumbing through the book in her lap and humming slightly at whatever she was reading, totally distracted from the conversation.

He cleared his throat. "And?"

"Huh? Oh! It means... well, it's a pet name. A really nice one at that. Means 'depth of my heart' or 'beloved person'. Or, well, it means 'acorn' too, but you said it was a nickname so we'll go with the first two. Very sweet, Harry. Where did you hear it?"

Part of him thought he should be thrilled. But that part of him was buried underneath months of aggressive sex and little other contact, under annoyed glares and curt declarations of Harry always being in the way. 'Beloved', huh? Tom couldn't even bring himself to come out and say it, he had to use some obscure language to express himself? And Harry remembered what his reaction had been when Harry had asked about it. His fists balled before he forced himself to look back at his book and relax.

"Harry? What's wrong?"

He grunted. "Nothing." He hoped she left it at that.

"You've been dreary for days."

He swore he jinxed himself sometimes. He frowned at the book and flipped a page, if only to look like he wasn't away from his head. "Why would I be dreary?"

"Why don't_ you_ tell _me_? The Ministry has been taken, the new Hogwarts term starts in a week for all who will return. Dumbledore is gone. You've achieved all you set out to... so why have you been so distant?"

Harry didn't want to answer that question. How could he explain to her the sense of loss he felt? He had worked all his life for a resolution to the damned war in one way or another… and now it was simply over? How could be explain that he was pathetic enough to be depressed over peace?

"It is nothing, Hermione." He turned back to his book and turned a page, staring at the chapter's title as he tried to ignore the stare his friend was leveling on him.

The book was torn from his hands then and slammed down on the table. "Talk to me Harry! You're worrying me!"

He scowled through his fringe at her, yanking back the book from the table and flipping to the table of contents. "It is none of your business," he hissed. "I am not a child, Hermione. I don't need someone to watch out for me."

"Obviously you do!"

"You wouldn't _understand_, Hermione. Now stop this."

"How can I understand if you won't tell me, Harry?"

He gritted his teeth and threw the book to the side, ignoring it as it stopped with a crash. "Stop this sentimental bullshit!"

"Then stop wallowing like a stubborn git and let someone in!"

He rose slowly, pulling himself to his full height, meager though it was. With a narrow-eyed frown he spun on his heel and stalked to the door, shoulders stiff.

"Harry James Potter, stop right there!"

He almost wished he could see the look he threw her, as something in it had Hermione's hand raising to clasp over her heart and her jaw clicked shut audibly in the silent library.

She didn't stop him as he slammed open the door and left the room, and he hated that that disappointed him somehow.

* * *

Harry slammed the door behind him, fists clenched at his side. "Get out," Tom had said. Plainly and without any of his usual snide bantering, just a flat exile from his office. Again. Harry breathed in through his nose and exhaled slowly, shoulders vibrating with tension. This was ridiculous.

The feeling of impossibility had festered in the weeks since Hermione had left; she hadn't returned since the incident in the library. He was hopeless at the financial paperwork that now inundated their operations, and without nightly raids and with the ministry properly under their control, there was little else to do. He was made for wartime, and peace was slowly infecting everything around him.

This was ridiculous. He had finally ended the war that his life had been centered around... so why wasn't he thrilled? He should be dancing in the bloody streets, not sitting with his back against Tom's door and trying to calm his breathing.

He thought it might be the way Tom looked at him. That snide disgust, so easily brushed off when he'd had the knowledge that Tom _needed _him, infected him now with every glance. He had never felt more useless in his life than he did in the moments that Tom would stare blankly up through his lashes, practically radiating his annoyance. Harry always did it _wrong_ and would he terribly mind shutting his gob before Tom sewed it closed?

What place did a child bred for wartime have when the final battle had been waged? Battling to survive with the Dursleys, skidding through his teen years by the skin of his teeth with a madman on his heels, charging back into war with lust for more... he really was hopeless outside of conflict, wasn't he? He had never experienced anything like peace, so how could he be expected to cope now?

The dull tone of Tom's dismissal echoed through his mind once more, and Harry tensed up again, shoulders bunching and eyes squeezing shut. He was angry, so angry, half of him ready to run back down the stairs and punch the snobby git's face in. But the rest of him shuddered, snarled, paced back and forth within walls that closed around him. What was a predator without prey?

What was a hero without a cause?

He wanted to scream. What in the hell would his purpose be now? He wasn't suited for politics like Tom was, had no drive to be an Auror. Too many rules. Merlin forbid he even _consider_ teaching. That was out even before the thought had reached his mind; he would go insane having to deal with brats day in and day out. Perhaps Dante had been more of an influence on him then he'd thought.

Wizards were so pathetically limited in their pursuits. It seemed everyone in Britain either worked at the ministry, Hogwarts, or stayed home all day. Outside of war, the Wizarding world was slow and monotonous, its people content to stay in the same era they had been living for hundreds of years.

So where did that leave him in the 'new' world he had striven so hard to create?

The tension drained from his shoulders slowly, the pounding in his head dulling to nothing. Apathy wound around his soul, eyes falling closed. He was so... tired. Tired of thinking, tired of being angry, tired of arguing with himself. He was tired of the disdain Tom aimed at him and tired of the way he doubted himself every morning, noon, and night. He had played his part. Hadn't he planned on leaving once the prophecy was broken? He had no purpose in this place any longer, surely, but so what? What kept him here? His friendships were crumbling rapidly with the loss of his purpose. And Voldemort? Harry's lips twitched into the makings of a snarl before flattening again, indifference blanketing him once more.

Enough was enough.

He moved to Tom's armoire and pulled open the lowest drawer, snorting at the bare number of things contained therein. Once he had left Hogwarts for good, he had thrown out all his hand-me-downs from Dudley. This left him with a bare minimum of clothing: a few sets of trousers, a jumper, and a few button-down shirts he had bought over the years. He pulled them out slowly, laying them on the bed in neat stacks. Tom's leather trousers were returned to the armoire, Harry's extra cloak pulled from the cabinet area. He wandered to the side of the bed that he had claimed as his, taking the book he had been reading from the bedside table along with his hairbrush. In a drawer he found his aging photo album with his invisibility cloak balled up beside it. Both were tossed onto the bed, and Harry took another slow look around the room.

He had so little. He spotted a ring he had picked up years ago in Sceaduwe on the unused table in the corner and strode towards it, picking it up and tilting it in his hand. The black gem gleamed red in the light, and Harry found himself throwing the ring across the room, watching with vague satisfaction as it bounced off the far wall and rolled beneath the bed. He was undoubtedly pathetic if he couldn't even stand to see the color red anymore, and he closed his eyes to take a deep breath.

As the anger left, Harry's shoulders slumped. He felt... defeated. His fingers trailed over his few belongings as his eyes looked toward the twin pillows at the head of the bed. Could he go through with this? Was the situation really so dire that he would cement his fate? Harry clenched his fists around the shirt he had been touching, staring down at white knuckles and shaking fingers.

He could and he would.

He had to.

He refused any further second thoughts, pulling his miniaturized trunk from his pocket and expanding it. With a flick of his wand his things were flying into the trunk.

"Potter? What in Merlin's name are you doing?"

A shadow of a frown on his face, Harry listened to the finality of his trunk slamming shut. A slow twirl of his wand shrunk it back down, and Harry turned as he scooped it up, meeting the burning glare of his lover. Harry tilted his head to the side slowly, trying to summon the words to explain or at least to be remembered by. But nothing came. 'Beloved' indeed.

He walked for the door, eyes pulling away from crimson as he moved around him.

"Where in the hell do you think you're going? If you think you can go on some holiday when there is so much work to be done, you've got another thing--"

"Goodbye, Tom."

He didn't look at the man as he spoke, nor did he turn around as the words Tom had been saying ended in a strangled gasp. He took the stairs two at a time and hardly even realized he was running as he hit ground level, darting past halted Death Eaters in a dash for the entry hall. He didn't hear the bellow of his name from up the stairs, he didn't see a certain blond rip down his hood as his eyes went wide. Harry skidded to a halt in the five by five area where the wards were left open, fingers curled around the wand in his pocket as he thought the incantation. _Apparate!_

* * *

"You have returned, pet."

A stilted smile. "There are plenty of places in Sceaduwe I never ventured in the years I stayed. Hide me there. _Please_, Valerian. I won't disturb my past self and I will stay out of the line of your subordinates. I can't..."

Valerian cut him off with a sad smile, waving his hand towards the hidden entrance to the Citadel. "As you wish."

* * *

A/N: And so ends Paraselenic, after a year (I know, I know, you have no idea how I suffered while toiling over this story) without update and a year before that of wonderful support. I never would have made it this far without you all.

Epilogue is all but done, just needs some editing and a few additional scenes. Some may be disappointed with this chapter, but the story ended with Harry killing Dumbledore. The rest is just for closure, it was never even supposed to be written. So please that this into account before you get upset over me skimming the Ministry takeover. That was not this fic's intention.

And don't fret, loves. The loose ends will be tied and this isn't the ending for our favorite pair. ;)

You all are amazing and I adore you greatly. You deserve far better than an author like me. Thank you for making this story a ride I'll never forget, and an experiment whose lessons I will take with me into every work I make from this point on.

Future Postings to Look For:

**Of Glittering Roses and Nonsensical Mushrooms** // First chapter written // **Harry/Undecided** Ouran/HP crossover. It didn't take a lot to start over. Taking the place of a sickly child who passed away and modifying the parents' memories was far easier than it should have been. And years in his role was almost enough to make Harry forget who he was entirely. But pasts like his never stay buried forever. /Harry=Kyouya fic/

---Odd idea, ne? Don't know if this will ever be posted, but I like the premise I have going. But there is a lot of kinks to work out along with... I dunno... an actual plot. :P We'll see.

**Embracing Absurdism **// 29k written // **Harry/Balthier** FFXII/HP crossover. Wherein magic opens eyes long closed to the world, tearing down walls previously unscaled. And two jaded souls might find something more than treasure in the ruins thereof. /Post DH, in-game, challenge fic/

---This is a loved project of mine since it is my first crossover. Just something to take out my creative energy on since I couldn't write Para for so long. Probably going up next since it is halfway complete (and I refuse to ever leave a story hanging like I did with this one ever again).

**Yesterday's Dream** // First year complete // **Harry/Tom** First year Faustus Harleigh Potter hates anyone referring to him by his first name, snobbish gits, and being talked down to. So, obviously, he despises his roommate Tom Riddle. But what Harry hates most of all... is having no memory of his life before his eleventh birthday.

---This will be a very different AU. I love playing with mindless cliches and will be integrating a lot of them into this fic to try and make them shiny and new. AU it may be... but it is also completely canon through HBP. Interested? It has an 11 page timeline, how's that for anal? :P

_---Also, if anyone is interested in writing some faux newspaper articles to help the epilogue come along faster, drop me a line in review form and I'll send you info to see if you'd be up to it. ;)  
_


	40. Epilogue: Ineluctable

Disclaimer: As this story ends with a shudder and a bang (that just so happened to be delayed long past its cue), I still do not own the rights to HP & Co. Ah, sadness, thou art familiar...

Apology: Since the last chapter, I went to Chicago to visit my boyfriend, got engaged at Anime Reactor 2009, had the most stressful college quarter of my life, and finally found the ability to write again as I sat here angsting to Nimohtar for the last months about my lost ability to write. You all can thank her for her inspiration via a fic she's been writing that always brought me back into the HP fandom.

I love you **all** more than I can express for your support. This story is for you. 3

* * *

**Paraselenic**

Epilogue - _Ineluctable // __not to be avoided, changed, or resisted_

* * *

_18 September 1997_

**Harry Potter Missing! Minister Malfoy Promises Reward for Information**

_By: Amanda Hugginkis_

Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived-to-Betray, has been declared missing officially after two weeks of speculation on his whereabouts. Minister Lucius Malfoy had this to say at the Press Conference late last night: "Any with verifiable information on Mister Potter's whereabouts will receive lifetime amnesty and an Order of Merlin First Class for their assistance. High Minister You-Know-Who has declared that a cash reward may be substituted in a sum of fifty thousand galleons for the successful capture, unharmed, of Lord Mylläkkä." This has already caused a storm of movement around the Wizarding world, many with hopes of glory or riches on a hunt for the Boy Who Lived. But be warned, readers – the High Minister has also stated that any falsified leads will be considered treason and a fatal offense. _(For more information, see page 3)_

* * *

_1 November 1997_

**Was Boy Who Lived Offed by High Minister?**

_By: Rita Skeeter_

It is suspected that the Boy Who Lived is now the Boy Who Died. The boy the world once trusted as poor, sweet, and innocent Harry Potter, recently revealed to be a horrible, demonic Vampire creature called Mylläkkä, also revealed to be on the side of You-Know-Who, has vanished without a trace. Invisibility Cloak notwithstanding, one might say it could be a skill he acquired from a less-than-savory sort, but everyone knows that with the recent events and inklings of a possible relationship between the Boy Who Lived and You-Know-Who suggest that once-sweet Harry Potter, now wretched and evil through and through, could know a lot more than any witch or wizard could imagine. If not the product of a lovers' quarrel, then what? Could You-Know-Who have possibly taken irreversible action?

If he is in fact dead, then perhaps the Wizarding world is better off, and a slight bit safer, as his theatrics caused a lot of stir among the students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry when he took the life of the bumbling, yet strangely brilliant Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, but if Harry Potter is in fact dead, offed by the High Minister, You-Know-Who himself, is anybody safe? Especially when it is speculated that Harry had been on his side, especially a side of a romantic nature. Who would have thought that Harry Potter would end up in a romantic relationship, let alone a crude, unnatural one, with the wizard who tried to kill him as a baby? If the High Minister didn't kill him, how is he handling Harry Potter's disappearance? When did the Wizarding world stop making sense? The Wizarding world, no matter how twisted, is watching fervently, unblinking, as each story unfolds.

* * *

_2 November 1997_

**Prominent Reporter Found Dead**

_By: Trish Pettingale_

Early this morning, prominent reporter Rita Skeeter was found dead in the Daily Prophet foyer. This is a tragedy for journalists everywhere and, yes, all Wizarding kind.

She was found relieved of all her skin.

* * *

_19 December 1997_

**New Hogwarts Headmaster Announced!**

_By: Skylin Providence_

In the wake of recent events which have shaken the Wizarding World, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has been left leaderless. Now, the High Minister has assigned the post of Headmistress to Minerva McGonagall, formerly Deputy Headmistress under the late Albus Dumbledore. Disgraced just before his death at the hands of Lord Mylläkkä, Dumbledore left Professor McGonagall as the best candidate for the post.

An anonymous source within the school covertly informed this reporter, "I don't feel safe anymore. The woman's a _Death Eater_!" Another student expressed the opposite feeling, stating that he has total confidence in the High Minister's choice.

Whatever the case, Minerva McGonagall has taught at Hogwarts for decades and has been an unwavering source of support to students and faculty alike. She has made it clear that she will keep her position as Transfigurations professor for fifth through seventh year students.

* * *

_13 May 1998_

**Loss of a Hero: The Boy Who Disappeared**

_By: Yuuki Toshi _

Harry Potter, better known as the Boy Who Lived, is now as the Boy Who Disappeared. After being revealed as the Dark Lord Mylläkkä and killing the Headmaster Dumbledore he disappeared from the school and has not been seen since. So this leaves the question: where is he?

The Minister of magic Lucius Malfoy and High Minister Voldemort (formally Dark Lord Voldemort) have been reported throughout England and the United Kingdom seeking information, and would only say that they are on the trail of the missing Dark Lord.  
Potter had seemed like a fairly normal student in school if one was to ignore the heroic deeds - many of which people are questioning. He recieved average grades in most subjects, did poorly in some and exceeded in others, which leads us to ask how and when he became a Dark Lord, in league with the very man who had tried to kill him.

Months have passed now and still no questions have been answered. _(for more information on the searches still in progress, see page 14)_

* * *

_29 August 1998_

**Search for Boy Who Lived Called Off After a Year**

_By: Trish Pettingale_

This is a sad day for the Wizarding world. Today, after eleven months of searching, Minister Malfoy has formally called off all investigation into Harry Potter's mysterious disappearance. "It has become unmistakably clear that Mister Potter does not, in fact, want to be found. The High Minister and I believe him to be well wherever he is, and have faith that he will return. Until then, there are more important things for our resources to be used for." Minister Malfoy refused to take questions regarding the decision.

* * *

_4 Febuary 2002_

**Radical Rebels Target Ministry!**

_By: Amberlina Brown_

Opposition has shown itself in the form of masked assailants, witnesses say. "T'was terrible!" Miranda Carthwrite, secretary to the Magical Games department said. "They stormed in in those terribly ugly yellow robes and were firing curses everywhere! Why, if not for the color, I'd have thought they were Death Eaters!" This was an opinion shared by many. "Doesn't seem right. Only been peace for four years and all of a sudden we've got more masked freaks disrupting us in here!" James Starr was overheard saying. This reporter is unsure of the aims of this group, but it is surely opposition to the High Minister's rule. More information is sure to come. _(For witness accounts, see page 8)_

* * *

_21 March 2005_

**Statute of Secrecy Reworked**

_By: Dennis Creevey_

The proposed reconstruction of the Statute of Secrecy passed through the Wizengamot without objection today, as expected. The proposed changes ranged from tighter security at the Leaky Cauldron to mandatory Unbreakable Vows for Muggleborn children and their families. Consequences of death have been added to the Statute for any willfully exposing the Wizarding world, and the High Minister seemed very pleased in a rare appearance after the proposal was signed into effect. "For too long the Wizarding world has been cowering. With these changes, we hope to secure our own longevity and prevent unnecessary conflict. We are superior, but we are outnumbered. We may feel secure in our world with the new revisions."

* * *

_18 June 2007_

**10th Anniversary of High Minister's Victory**

_By: Jayna Steele_

Around the Wizarding world today there are mixed feelings. Ten years ago today, High Minister Voldemort's reign began with the fall of the Ministry of Magic. Some look upon the changes since wrought with joy – security, a return to the traditions that made the Wizarding world distinctive and strong, and the slow return to stability and peace – and others see this date as something to mourn.

"Things are dreary," said Lavender Brown, assistant to Madam Malkin. "Sure, things are safer... but the High Minister was still a tyrant born of a hostile takeover. He rules with fear and threats of death. It isn't the same in the world anymore when you have to watch your every step in case one of his Enforcers might think you're out of line and off you." Others, however, disagree obstreperously. "I think this is the best thing that could have happened to us!" Zacarias Smith, Curse Breaker for Gringotts and part-time Enforcer, believes. "The High Minister weeded out the corruption and set the Wizarding world back to rights. We should be thankful and be done with it, and celebrate this like the happy occasion it is."

* * *

_26 December 2013_

**Attack on Ministry Leaves 21 Injured, 3 Dead**

_By: Trish Pettingale_

In a dire celebration of the Yule holidays, the infamous rebel group Bennu's Ashes stormed the Ministry of Magic late last night. In a flurry of spells the building was sent into a veritable panic, and the yet-untested security that has sat untouched in the years since the High Minister took control was overtaken in moments, leaving the dastardly insurgents to move through the various departments.

It is with a heavy heart that the deaths of Delores Umbridge, Percy Weasley, and Chance LaMeare are announced at the hands of these fiendish rapscallions, with at least seven other wizards and witches still in Scarlet condition in St. Mungo's Spell Damage ward. Minister Malfoy will be visiting the injured personally, it is rumored, later this afternoon.

It is yet unknown what Bennu's Ashes hoped to accomplish when it mercilessly struck down witches and wizards only wishing to perform their duties, disrupting otherwise peaceful times with their hate and darkness. The High Minister has already sent word that his elite Enforcers are on the job of investigating what the goal was, and this reporter hopes that with a more stringent, trained guard force, the upcoming new year will not bring yet more tragedy to a world that has yet to forget what the taint of darkness feels like_. (For witness statements, see page 2.)_

* * *

_19 January 2016_

**Ron Weasley Speaks Out: Twenty Years After Betrayal**

**[Start of Interview]**

Nathan Gainsborough conducting Interview with Ronald Weasley

**NG**: Good Evening, Mr. Weasley.

**RW**: [nod] Evening.

**NG**: Shall we get started?

**RW**: Go ahead.

**NG**: It's been a long time, Mr. Weasley. This is the first interview you've granted in almost twenty years. Is there a reason why?

**RW**: I didn't see the point before.

**NG**: And now?

**RW**: Things have changed.

**NG**: What kind of things, Mr. Weasley?

**RW**: I had enough of things. It was time.

**NG**: I can't deny it's a big honour to be able to speak to you like this, to hear what you have to say. There are a lot of people interested in you.

**RW**: [snorts]

**NG**: Oh come now, surely you must know? You're considered a hero to some of them.

**RW**: Not everyone, though.

**NG**: No, indeed. You _have_ made yourself some enemies it's true. You've been a wanted exile for a long time now - in fact, ever since Harry Potter left. You were his friend, once upon a time.

**RW**: _Was_, yeah. Can't miss out that part. It's the most important part after all.

**NG**: Tell me a bit about the two of you. How did you become friends?

**RW**: From the moment we first met. On the train to Hogwarts for the very first time.

**NG**: That's quite a beginning.

**RW**: Isn't it just? You'd think it'd mean more to him than it did. He was my best mate, practically a brother to me. It was me and him, and Hermione. Thought we'd be mates forever, didn't I? And then he goes and does something like _that_ -

**NG**: "That", Mr Weasley?

**RW**: [bitterly] Shacks himself with You-Know-Who - sorry, High Minister now, isn't he? We'd been fighting him for years - _years_ - and then he just goes and switches sides on us, the bloody tosser.

**NG**:And this still angers you?

**RW**: Of course it bloody - [sound of frustration followed by sigh] He left us. He left us all. Turned his bloody back on us and left us to _him_. It's like we didn't even matter to him - any of us. Like all those years as friends didn't matter at all. Didn't even send word, did he? No apology, no excuse, just… nothing. He was just gone.

**NG**: Would you have listened to him, then, had he offered any?

**RW**: [pause] I wasn't exactly given the chance, was I?

**NG**: Do you consider it a betrayal, then?

**RW**: What do you think? 'Course it was. I mean, how would you feel finding out about something like that? It was _Harry_…

**NG**: That wasn't the only thing he did to you, though, was it? He was responsible for the death of your father.

**RW**: Yes. He was.

**NG**: You must hate him for that.

**RW**: [coldly] For that, yes I do. I'll never forgive him for that. Ever.

**NG**: Was it his betrayal which spurred you into rebellion?

**RW**: You could say it was part of it, yes. But we'd been fighting for a long time before then. It was more a continuation than a start. But…yes, I'd say Harry's betrayal made it all more urgent.

**NG**: Did you think it was possible to win? After all, you must have seen that there was little hope of overthrowing him; Albus Dumbledore had been killed, the then-Dark Lord had control over Hogwarts in the form of the surprise Death Eater Minerva McGonagall, and all that that implies, and the one hope of victory - Harry Potter - had deserted, disappeared. So, why fight?

**RW**: What else was I meant to do? My whole life I'd been hearing of the terrors and the disasters from the First Rise. At Hogwarts, I saw what Harry was going through - was with him through most of him. The nightmares, the sadness, the fear - I saw it, I _felt_ it. And Harry - how could _Harry_ let someone like that take over, and join him, even? I've never understood that. And now you ask me why I fought? How could you let someone like that take over? They were murderers, evil… It's not right.

**NG**: You could have surrendered, accepted it. That's what many people did.

**RW**: It's not _right_.

**NG**: But the rebellions failed in the end, if you forgive me for saying so, and here you are now, with very little accomplished.

**RW**: It's not over. There'll still be people who will carry on with the fight, even after I'm gone. The important thing is to try. And that's what we did.

**NG**: What about the changes that the High Minster's rule has introduced? The return of tradition, the increased safety of the Wizarding World from the muggles?

**RW**: Pure-blood politics, the lot of it.

**NG**: But ones that keep Wizards _safe_. You can't disagree with that, sur -

**RW**: Safety is one thing - but a safety guaranteed and upheld through murder and suppression is another thing entirely! It shouldn't be borne. How would you like to live in a society where you have to watch your every word, what you say and what you, just in case you get on the wrong side of the tyrant-in-chief? Because you know what happens when you get on the wrong side of them - they'll destroy you, and your family, and everything you've got, and they won't be satisfied with anything less._ That's _what I was fighting against. _That's_ what I was trying to put a stop to. And there's nothing wrong with fighting for a cause like that.

**NG**: [pause] I see you feel very impassioned about this…You said you've stopped now. Is that true?

**RW**: Yeah, it's true.

**NG**: Was there a particular reason for this?

**RW**: No. Not really. It was just time, that's all.

**NG**: Would you care to elaborate?

**RW**: I'm tired of it, okay? Twenty years is a long time - more than enough for anyone. Most of my friends are dead, the rest are either imprisoned, or missing, or have defected! I'm getting older. I have injuries that will last for the rest of my life! I have nightmares about things you couldn't even imagine! And most importantly of all - most importantly of all…I have my family to think of.

**NG**: Your wife and daughter.

**RW**: Yeah… They've been through enough. It's time for it all to stop, at least for me.

**NG**: Would you say it was worth it, in the end? The fighting?

**RW**: I... don't know any more.

**NG**: It took its toll on you, from what I can tell - and on some of your friendships, and your relationships to your other family members.

**RW**: We chose our sides. In the end, it's all there is to it.

**NG**: Is that so? What about Hermione Granger? You mentioned her before.

**RW**: Hermione chose Harry long before any of us ever found out about him going over to the other side. I never knew anything about it.

**NG**: In effect, you lost two friends that day.

**RW**: Yeah, you could say that. It was never the same afterwards - how could it be? But… as I said, she chose her side, and I chose mine, and we all have to live with it. [sigh] For what it's worth…I think she's happy where she is. She was always the one in charge, you know, even at school, always the one crusading for this, that and the other. As for Harry and I, we…

**NG**: Yes?

**RW**: [long pause] Sometimes, just sometimes, I look around me and I see all these people - the people I'm fighting with, and I'm fighting against -, I remember all those years together at school, all the fear and the hatred, and the _killing_, and part of me.. part of me understands, y'know, why he did it. Why he switched sides, and why he left afterwards…

**NG**: Oh?

**RW**: [sighs] It gets to you, you know… I don't think I really understood it until I went through it too.

**NG**: Do you not blame him then?

**RW**: I… no..

**NG**: No? What is it then?

**RW**: [silence]

**NG**: Mr. Weasley?

**RW**: I…

**NG**: Yes?

**RW**: [quietly] I think I'd like to end here, please.

**[End of Interview]**

* * *

_13 October 2020_

**Phellytones: Evil Menace or Useful Integration?**

_By: Gordon Stetherwright_

"_A step towards modernisation!"_

"_A disaster of catastrophic proportions!"_

"_A new and innovative form of communication, designed to make lives easier!"_

"_Silly, idiotic nonsense!"_

Those were just a few of the arguments that raged among the Wizarding world on the subject of Phellytones, the muggle devices of communication that allow for spoken communication between people both at home and on the move.

Today is the one year anniversary of the day that the very first Phellytones were first put on trial in selected establishments throughout Wizarding Britain, and we shall be taking a look at the history of this at-times controversial idea, the pitfalls and the triumphs, and whether the end result is to be considered success or failure!

It was five years ago that the motion to integrate this Muggle invention into Wizarding society first reached the ears of leading retailers of industry, and the public. The scheme was introduced by none other than Muggleborn Hermione Granger, a well-known and established champion of justice, and patroness of change, as a means of supplementing more traditional means of communication, as well as allowing for more interaction between Muggle and Wizarding families.

When first proposed, the scheme was met with wild disagreement from almost every quarter of the Wizarding World. The old traditionalists lamented over the threat to tradition; the magical industries feared the collapse of many a business; the departments of finance argued that the cost of introducing these new devices would be astronomical and the ruin of Wizards everywhere; even the owl-breeders worried over what would happen to all the owls who had so faithfully delivered our letters for over 5 millennia. In fact, the only people who supported the notion were the Mage-Crafts, their lone hands timidly raised in a sea of angry waving and shouting, eager for the opportunity to test their skills in either the adaptation of spells and machine needed to make Muggle appliances function alongside magic, or the creation of an entirely new device incorporating the two.

One would imagine that with such blatant opposition the scheme would have fallen through at the very first hurdle! However, Ms. Hermione Granger rose to the challenge and within mere weeks had been granted sanctioned support from the High Minister himself to begin the first forays of experimentation into this project; thus the agency W.O.R.M.S. (Wizarding Office Researching Muggle Science) was born.

The path of the "Phellytones Introduction Group", as it came to be colloquially called, was at times a difficult one. Although the majority of opponents to the scheme were content to keep their displeasure to mere talking, there were several incidents of a more physical nature, including a number of attempts to sabotage development, and various attempted assassinations of the three leading Mage-Crafts in charge of the project; Allegra Fitzgerald, Barbarello Dougal, and Imelda Kettlesworth, which prompted greater security measures being put into place, and the W.O.R.M.S. to spend an undetermined amount of time under the Fidelus Charm for their continued protection.

In spite of these setbacks, progress continued at a fast rate, and within a short amount of time the first prototypes were released for trial on a limited basis, with major Wizarding businesses as well as a select 1000 private Wizarding citizens participating in the trial scheme; of these, the most notable were Madamme Malkin's Robes For All Occasions, Weasley Wizarding Wheezes, and former Minister of Magic Lucius Malfoy.

Now, a year later, and a week before the results of the trial scheme are to be released, tensions are high as people wait to see whether or not the Phellytones are to be scrapped for good as a lost cause, or released to the public domain.

People in support of the new changes might be pleased to hear that W.O.R.M.S. has last week announced the newest projects for the future - including the Confuter, a box-like contraption which will provide users with an astounding array of useful and beneficial abilities.

As for those who continue in their desire to stick to their traditionalist ways, the only consolation I can give them is that if these items are introduced on a wide-scale basis, they will not be compulsory.

* * *

_2 April 2024_

**Neville Longbottom New Director of St. Mungo's**

_By: Cassandra Crimsonchin_

Neville Longbottom, 43, has been announced the new Director of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. From an early age, Longbottom has longed to be something more than average.

"I just figured I'd be a regular old Medi-wizard. Being announced as Director is a great honor, something I couldn't even begin to imagine," says Longbottom when asked how he feels about his new position of leadership. One of the youngest wizards to achieve such a title, Longbottom plans to bring about change in the way St. Mungo's handles their patients. His long-term goals include more time with patients, a deeper level of care, and not being so quick to throw patients into the UnCureable Ward.

Longbottom's parents, Frank and Alice Longbottom, have been patients at St. Mungo's for many years, which sparked the desire to see better care for the mentally and physically ill of the Wizarding world in Longbottom's heart. With diligence, he studied hard, and has now, at an early age, achieved his goal.

* * *

_18 September 2026_

**The Memoirs of a Best Friend: The True Harry Potter**

From Chapter 4: "The Difference Between a Hero Forged and a Hero Dreamed"

[_In anticipation of Hermione Granger's new book, the Daily Prophet has been given the go ahead to share with you all a short excerpt. Remember, 'Memoirs of a Best Friend' hits shelves on Friday._]

"'Once upon a time' and 'happily ever after' may be fine for fairy tales, but it simply doesn't hold up in reality. Harry was a kind soul – too kind, one might say, for the role he as thrust into – and not everyone is strong enough to bear the weight of the world on their shoulders. Don't get me wrong, Harry was strong. He was stronger than Ron and I, stronger than the Order of the Phoenix or even Voldemort himself! He had a strength of character that was nearly insurmountable. However, once you load the expectations of a world onto a person's shoulders and make them believe they could only achieve acceptance if they met them? It is crushing. I watched for years as Harry bowed under the weight.

"We were young then, though. I was too naïve to see the reality of what was happening, and instead Ron and I let him fall. It was too hard to believe that Harry Potter – someone that even I as a Muggleborn and his best friend had been convinced was beyond human fallibility – would be crushed beneath the weight. And in the end he wasn't.

"Many today, even twenty-eight years since his disappearance, believe Harry betrayed this world. He did not. Harry chose to live his own life instead of capitulating to what the world expected of him, instead of falling into the role of hero that many expected. Why place your hopes on a child, I ask of you all? You are as guilty as any if you read this, obviously drawn to read simply because Harry Potter is a household name. You asked a boy too young to know himself to know exactly the path to take. The blame is your own.

"But I believe Harry did the right thing for all of us. Whereas you all were too frightened to fight your own battle, Harry was unafraid to turn the tides of battle in his own favor. He became the hero you all dreamed him to be for so many years, forged in tribulation, pain, and death... he became that hero with his own dreams in mind. I applaud him for that, and if you have an decency remaining you will do the same, whether his ideals matched your own or not."

* * *

_8 July 2027_

**Hermione Granger First Muggleborn Minister of Magic**

_By: Trish Pettingale_

Months after Minster Malfoy's injury at the hands of Bennu's Ashes rebels and his subsequent resignation from the position of Minister of Magic, the votes have been counted and his replacement has been named.

At the age of 47, prominent politician and activist Hermione Granger was elected only the third youngest Minister of Magic today, taking her place as the first Muggleborn to ascend to the position in Wizarding history. "This day is not about my blood or any election gotten despite it, this day is about the Wizarding world embracing hope in the face of a darkening horizon! As Minister, I promise you all that I will fight to elevate our world and uphold the values we hold dear. And with this hope we will strive evermore for true peace through knowledge and progress, taking our glorious world to new heights!"

Later in her speech, the Minster outlined plans to integrate several new technologies like the Phellytone and the Telefission, stating a need to keep the public informed through several mediums. "While we keep ourselves hidden from the muggle world, we mustn't let our wish for separation cloud or good judgment. There are a good many things produced by those who do not have magic to aid them, and we cannot let prejudice and fear cloud our good sense." Minister Granger went on to outline plans for organized educational systems below and above Hogwarts level.

Many are skeptical of the new Minister, though she has the High Minister's full support. "What can a mudblood really do? I think the Dark Lord fell off his rocker a bit, he did," Knocturne Alley shopkeeper Isabella Rosier said. While many hold reservations about the new Minister's blood status, others worry about her age. "She isn't even middle aged!" Augusta Longbottom cried, clucking her tongue. "Why, what is this world coming to? First my Grandson is promoted and now this? She's a nice girl, but she's still a child!"

It remains to be seen how Minister Granger will fare, but the Wizarding world has spoken with her election over the traditionalist Argo Pyrites, showing a clear desire for a new movement in our world. And mote shall it be.

* * *

Harry leaned against the railing to Riddle Manor, fingers clenched on the wrought iron fence. The garden wasn't nearly as overgrown as he had thought it would be; either someone had put up a stasis spell over the years, or Tom had actually made someone fix it up at some point. It was odd, though, to see it so hardly changed.

It had been thirty years, after all.

Could he really enter? His heart stuttered to a halt at the thought of seeing Tom again, aged though he surely was. And what of Lucius, Hermione, of the others he had bonded with over the years? Icy fingers gripped his being. Could he stand to look at them, older and changed? It was true that wizards aged far more slowly than Muggles, but thirty years wrought changes on any mortal.

Why had he even returned? Damn Valerian for talking him into going back, and damn Dante for helping him. Damn them all, anyway. How could he face them all now after he'd left with hardly a word?

But… he knew why he'd come back. He'd missed them all so much he could hardly breathe, and he had spent far too many moments of those thirty years in solitude and miserable. Valerian, wonderful friend he was, hadn't tried to replace what Harry knew he'd lost. What he'd taken from himself. But he had been there, silent in the shadows and reminding him that he wasn't truly alone.

For all the good it had done.

But to return now? He wouldn't be welcomed, he knew. He didn't expect to be. But looking into the mirror and realizing that so many years had passed and he was entirely unchanged had been difficult. Impossible to comprehend. And the mortality of his friends had hit quite painfully in the center of his being as Valerian had slipped him a newspaper from the Wizarding world, showing Hermione accepting the position as Minister of Magic. She would be nearly fifty now, nearly middle-aged in Wizarding terms. That made Harry himself nearly sixty. He shuddered.

It had been like the world had been pulled out from underneath him. How had time managed to get away from him that way? Wasn't the saying that time only moved quickly during enjoyable times? How had the most miserable times of his life ended up passing in a blink of the eye?

_ "Immortality, pet, is a curse far more often than it is a blessing. I have told you this before. Why do you think so many of the long-lived come here to stay? Amongst other unchanging, time does not seem such a disease."_

He had never mourned the loss of Valerian's powers, his punishment from the Fates for defying their edict, as much as he did in the current moment, staring up at Riddle Manor under the full moon and wishing he could turn time back.

Would anyone even remember him? He wasn't an idiot, he knew they'd _remember_ him, but would they really? Did anyone ever think of him anymore, remember the way he spoke or how he stood? He remembered them. He remembered the way that Hermione's hair would stand on end when there was a storm, the way Lucius's scowl would make his lips pout outward. He thought of the look in Luna's eyes when she'd explained the Wrackspurts to him that night in the Great Hall and the way Neville's jaw had quivered, for all is strength, at the idea of disappointing his grandmother.

He remembered the tilt to Tom's head when he was curious, the way his fingers would clench spastically when Harry brushed his fingers against the hollow behind his ears. He remembered the darkening cast to red eyes when he was angry and the vein that jutted from his forehead when he wanted nothing more than to hit Harry over the head.

Merlin, he had missed them all.

Was he even a passing thought anymore?

Did they resent him?

He wouldn't blame them if they did. He had been selfish in leaving, so self-centered and childish that it made him sick. So he'd felt useless. A normal person would have tried to find a purpose, something that made him feel worthwhile. But no, not Harry Potter. Harry Potter had run away with his tail between his legs.

He shouldn't have come back. His grip tightened on the aged iron and he felt it bow in his grip. He had trained much over the years, and though he had only begun to develop his strength, the old metal was too malleable to hold up under the pressure. He pulled his hands away and grimaced, eyes falling to his feet. What place did he have in this world now? He had done his job and faded into obscurity as he had always planned, vanishing into the shadows without a trace. So why did he feel so hollow because of it?

He balanced his way down the path to the graveyard, taking care to jam his heel down with every step to steady himself in the mud; preternatural ability had never been much help on his lack of grace. He couldn't stay. He didn't know if his martyr complex was back at work or if he was being selfish, but whichever it was he was leaving. They were fine without him.

The muddy ground of the graveyard squelched beneath his boots as he sunk with every step, weaving between century-old tombstones. Another place that was eerily unchanged. His gaze was drawn to the most familiar stone of them all, standing just a bit taller than the others. He hadn't meant to go off course, but his feet seemed to have ideas of their own as they led him to the right, circling until he stared down at Tom Riddle Senior's grave.

For all that time had gone by in the flutter of an eyelash, Voldemort's rebirth might as well have happened in another lifetime. Harry's fingers traced over the rough stone, head tilting and making his hair tumble over his shoulder. Forty years since that day. He had been so terrified. He remembered the way that same stone had dug into his arms as he'd struggled and the hot pain of the knife delving into his arm, but that was all he really remembered. He tried to picture the moment Voldemort had stepped from the cauldron but couldn't.

"_Harry_…"

His fingernails dug into the stone painfully, eyes going round. He knew he shouldn't have lingered. He couldn't turn around, oh how he didn't want to turn, but he found his body disobeying him as he moved, centimeter by centimeter, breath by breath. His eyes stayed glued on the ground. "It's been a while, Tom." He tried to summon up a cocky smirk or a jaunty wave, anything to make him look less like a horrified fool. But he could do nothing but stare at his feet with ragged, panicked breaths fogging around him in the cold night.

He had expected a lot of things, but the left hook to his jaw had not been one of them. His eyes flew up automatically to his attacker as his hand moved to press the source of eye-watering pain. Through a film of reactive tears, green eyes locked with red and he was lost.

"Tom…"

"Fuck you, Potter!" He looked so much as Harry remembered him, straight nose and high cheekbones casting long shadows in the moonlight. Perhaps there were new lines across his brow, the faint trace of creases around his mouth that would probably be more obvious in another few years. But otherwise Tom Riddle looked just as he had thirty years prior, livid crimson eyes included. "Where in the hell have you been, you ignominious twat?!"

Harry could hardly breathe. "I-I was just leaving. Nevermind. I'm sorry I came back." He was stuttering like a child, and the painful pounding of his heart echoed in his ears. A mistake. He never should have come. He couldn't handle this.

He meant to turn away, meant to run as fast as his legs could take him out of the anti-Apparition wards so he could get the hell away from Little Hangleton. But the sudden panic on Tom's face, stark and painful to look at, halted him in his tracks. "If you take even one step, Harry Potter, I will track you down no matter what realm you escape to and flay you alive!"

Whether it was the command in the voice or the way his heart had wrenched, Harry obeyed. He kept his eyes tracking Tom as he came closer. Tom's hands were shaking, Harry was distressed to see, and his knuckles were white as he clenched them.

"If you had left for a week, a month, a _year_, I might have forgiven you. But you leave for _thirty fucking years_ and just waltz back? Who in the hell do you think you are?!"

Was there really a response for that? Harry closed his eyes.

"Answer me, damnit! What in the hell were you thinking, abandoning our plans for Britain and running off? You… you…!"

"Is that all you cared about?" Harry was advancing now, some part of him smirking darkly as Tom took a step back. "Your war? I should have known. Riddle me this, Tom: who in their right mind would stay where they weren't wanted? Who would stay when they had outlived their use to the world? I had nothing tying me here!"

Tom was seething now, teeth bared in a snarl. "That's your excuse? You pathetic Gryffindor _coward!"_

"Who are you calling a coward?!" He was face to face with him now, fingers curling in Tom's collar and eyes blazing.

"You, you twit!" The glare in Tom's eyes changed too suddenly for Harry to move away, barely managing to tilt his head to avoid a broken nose. It was hardly even a kiss, all teeth and smashing force against his lips, but Harry fell under its spell immediately and without reservation, second hand moving to curl in the short hairs at the back of Tom's neck and yank him closer, holding his head crushed against Harry's own.

Ah, it was such a conundrum that something so wonderful was something so easy to forget. One could think they remembered passion in its absence, but the reality was so far from memory. Fire lit Harry's veins and scalded his mind, settling him into a state of blank bliss. Tom's teeth gnashed at his lips, tongue twining through his mouth and running across the roof of his mouth. Harry shivered and fell into Tom's grip.

Summoning every dredge of willpower he had, Harry used the hands he had twined in Tom's hair to pull the man's head back, separating their lips. That was as far as his resolve extended though, he mused, finding himself unable to do more than pant against Tom's lips and shudder in his arms.

"You're an idiot, Potter."

"So are you, Tom. But you missed me, didn't you?"

Talk was cheap. Harry was happy to put off talking until later as their lips clashed again, sending them into oblivion.

* * *

It was hours before they found themselves walking in silence from the graveyard, slightly damp and more than disheveled. Harry tried not to focus on how utterly kinky it was to have had angry, ruthless sex in a graveyard – on the tomb of Tom's father, no less! – and more on the idea that he was _back_. For better or for worse, Harry didn't think he could escape back to Sceaduwe now if he tried.

Tom had gone silent in between standing and pulling up his trousers, jaw set stonily in the moments Harry had managed a glimpse of his face. Obviously things would not suddenly be perfect after thirty years of absence; sadly, sex could not erase fissures as deep as those dividing he and Tom.

He heard Tom mutter and watched what had previously been a blank stretch of stone wall transform into a door. A twitch of Tom's hand had the door swinging open, and Harry immediately recognized the drab wallpaper of the Manor proper, yellowing floral print peeling at the edges. He vowed to convince Tom to let him spruce up the place.

...This was assuming, of course, that Tom didn't simply kick him straight out once he was done screaming at him.

He wished he was vain enough to know the grooming spells Tom did. While he had been able to superficially dry his clothing, he could still feel the weight of his wet braid thumping dully against his back. He was sure he looked a fright. Tom, on the other hand, looked as groomed and perfectly put together as ever, though Harry would not tell him that the backs of his trouser legs were muddy. Let the silent berk be human for a minute.

They passed few people in the halls, and Harry wasn't surprised to find that so. Those they did see wore dark robes, but gone were the masks and hoods of the Death Eaters. Every head turned to stare with wide eyes at him as he trailed along at Tom's heels.

"Potter?!"

He hadn't wanted to see anyone so soon, and he cringed. Tom radiated anger in front of him, likely borne from his horrible impatience. Harry turned and faced the speaker regardless, less than surprised that, once again, Fate toyed with him. Draco. Of all people, why did it always have to be Draco Malfoy?

He was older. Much older. It was striking how like Lucius the boy looked, hair brushing his shoulders and patrician features stark. He might have even thought it was Lucius himself if it wasn't for the upturned curve of the boy's – no longer a boy, Harry reminded himself – nose and the blue gleam in silver eyes. He had gotten a more soft cast to his face from his mother, a beauty to add to Lucius's already handsome genes.

Realizing he'd been staring, Harry forced up a stiff smirk. "Ah, Little Pretty? My, you're not so little anymore, are you?"

The silvery eyes narrowed and his mouth screwed up into an indignant frown. However like Lucius the boy might look, Harry could tell in that instant that he would never live up to his father. He had very little control still, it seemed. "Who in Slytherin's name do you think you're talking to, you flighty git?"

An impatient growl had Malfoy's eyes flying to Tom, widening as he bowed at the waist. "My lord, I apologize for my impetuous manner. I merely wished to update you on my father's status."

"And? I expect Lucius came out of surgery without complication?"

Draco nodded, blond hair swaying. "Yes, m'lord. The Mediwitch whom I met with seemed sure he would make a full recovery without the limp he's been troubled with."

"What? What happened to Pretty?"

Draco opened his mouth as if he would respond, but a hand clamped over Harry's wrist and yanked him towards Tom. A glare silenced Malfoy and they were down the hall again, Harry making an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. "You are so rude, Tom. I expect some things never change, hmm?"

The wall connecting with the back of his head caught him off guard, and he could do little but gape as Tom sneered at him, nose inches from his own. "You would be amazed at how much can change in a person, Potter."

"Like your propensity for physical violence? I never thought you'd stoop to using your hands, Tom."

The snarl he got in return was wordless and followed by the swish of Tom's cloak as he turned on his heel. "Get into my study _now_, Potter, and shut your mouth."

Harry had forgotten how little he liked being ordered around. He followed nonetheless, jaw set in a frown as he stared at Tom's back. It was like he'd never left, and Tom's attitude hadn't moved an inch.

Tom threw himself into his chair without his usual grace, and Harry took a moment to look around the room. There were less pieces of furniture now and even fewer trinkets littering the walls and desk, leaving the office barren of personality. Harry wondered where everything had gone. Paperwork was still an ever-present staple, stacks held upright by only magic.

Harry sat slowly, not taking his eyes from Tom's still posture, the way red eyes tracked his every move. It got annoying quickly. "Well?"

"Well what?" Tom hissed, eyes narrowing.

Harry's eye ticked. "Well what do you want from me? We obviously have things to talk about, but you're doing fuck all about it!"

"Me?" said Tom in a dangerous tone. "_I_ was not the one who ran away. _I_ was not the one that didn't think to tell anyone why in the hell I was leaving." Tom was standing now, hands planted on his desk and eyes alight with anger as his voice rose. "_I _was not the one to didn't think to send an owl in thirty fucking years to let people know I was alive!"

Harry winced and sunk in his seat, responding automatically. "Careful, Tom, one might think you care."

Harry heard the snapping of wood and stared wide-eyed as Tom's magic kicked up around him, a fierce snarl contorting his face. His desk had twin fissures running along it from Tom's hands. "_Care_? Do you think I would be so angry if I didn't?!"

"Yes! You were always angry, you git! You're the one who kept pushing me away because you couldn't even own up to loving me!"

"You loved me too, you inconsiderate excuse for a halfwit!"

They both panted in the silence that fell, trying to reign in the magic and emotions that were out of control. Harry was slightly stunned by Tom's round-about, half-assed admission of love for him. Sure, it wasn't chocolate and roses, but when had he ever wanted that? Tom hadn't denied it, and that spoke more than a thousand words ever could.

"Where have you been?"

Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts, looking away from the defeated slump of Tom's shoulders. "Around. I spent a few years in Sceaduwe before I couldn't take it any more. I've been traveling since between the immortal realm and the mortal one, popping in on any conflicts around the world."

Tom's expression was deadpan. "You've been a _mercenary_?"

"Mmm," Harry said softly. "Spent a few years in the Middle East when I fist started out, but that war was rather droll after a while. The wizards there weren't very friendly because of all the disruption. Did some work in Africa with some slavery business, then helped the Salem Aurals with a dispute with some South American wizards. Then there was that civil war in China about twenty years ago..."

"You've been helping _Muggles_ fight _wars_ for the last thirty years?" Deadpan had changed over to incredulous now. "Have you entirely lost what little mind you had, Potter?"

Harry sneered. "Better to have some use in the world than to sit on my backside signing papers for the rest of my life, Tom."

Tom scowled darkly, lips curled in a snarl, but he didn't respond, settling instead on trying to burn a hole through Harry's head with his eyes.

Harry tugged his braid over his shoulder, yanking off the elastic tie and slowly unwinding it. "I didn't have a use here, Tom. The war was over and I'm not suited to the things you do. I would have left eventually, whether it was from boredom or necessity."

"So you took our your childish angst on Muggle and foreign Wizarding wars? You are the most stubborn, facetious little--"

Harry stood, shaking his head slightly to make his damp, kinked hair swing back behind his shoulders. "Whatever you say, Tom. I can see that some things truly never change, and I'll not stay where I'm not welcome. I suppose I was just feeling nostalgic." He smiled sadly at Tom's hanging jaw, and brushed his hands on his trousers. "It was good to see you, Tom."

He had intended to leave, truly he had, but he quickly found himself in the all-too-familiar position of his back pressed into the wall with Tom's weight leaning into him. But rather than ignited red eyes and snarling lips, he found himself gazing down at Tom's eyes clenched closed as tightly as his jaw, the fingers on Harry's shoulders spasming. "Don't go. For Merlin's sake, Potter... don't do this again."

Harry felt something crack inside him at the exhaustion that lined Tom's voice, the pleading that he hardly even tried to hide. And then his eyes were opening to look into Harry's own, staring without blinking for uncomfortably long. Harry swallowed. "What is the point of this farce, Tom? We just aren't good for each other."

Tom made an irritated sound in the back of his throat and raised on hand, and Harry watched it hesitate an inch from his cheek. "Don't make me force meaningless words, Potter. You know me better than that by now, I'd hope. But I think I am a fair judge of what is or isn't good for me."

"No you aren't, you stubborn git," Harry muttered, dipping his face to contact the hesitating hand and wriggling until it cupped his cheek. "You never know what's good for you or anyone else, you go on pure emotional response if you can. You always have; it was your greatest strength and weakness all in one."

Long, spidery fingers raised to Harry's forehead and he closed his eyes against the hot touch as Tom traced over his scar, faded into near-invisibility though it was. "_And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal_."

"There is that."

Tom's eyes fell from his forehead to meet his own. "Don't make me go through that again, Harry."

Harry didn't ask what, he didn't want to know. But he couldn't deny the way his dead heart stirred or his unnecessary breathing caught. And he did the only thing he could do as he kissed Tom with everything he had, desperation warring with years of separation. And Tom's hands warmed his cheeks where they clung to him, pulling him closer than was possible, drowning them both.

Harry surrendered himself.

* * *

"Let's go, Harry."

Harry looked up from his desk, eyes lighting on his lover. The gray that had peppered his temples had grown to streaks, lines in his forehead from a lifetime of scowls were now visible no matter his expression. But he was as beautiful now as he always had been to Harry, and no one could say that he wasn't amazingly well preserved for his age. The week before had been the New Year's Eve, signaling Tom's 300th birthday, well out of the range of even Wizarding lifespans. Harry had to be thankful to the dark rituals which had extended his lover's life.

"Where to, love? Have business at the Ministry?"

"No, Harry. I want to _go_."

That caught his attention. Harry's eyes shot up once more and riveted on red. "Leave? Tom, are you sure?"

"I tire of politics."

Harry grinned and leaned over the desk. "Never thought I'd hear that, Mister High Minister."

Tom glided across the room without reacting to the joke, pulling out the chair across from Harry's desk and dropping into it. "I am old. I was old when we ended the war, and it has been centuries since. I am tired and grow weary of this life. Merlin only knows how many years I have left."

Green eyes instantly fell into a glare. "Don't talk like that."

Long fingers reached across the table to snare some of Harry's hair; Tom's fascination hadn't been tempered by the years. He wrapped it around a few knuckles before pulling slowly and watching it fall. "I am ephemeral, Loçkë. You will live out this millennium and the next, only perishing due to external influence. I have survived long, but I have lived far beyond my natural course. It is inevitable."

"Not if you would _listen_ to me and allow yourself to be Changed..."

A snort accompanied by a wry glance. "I will not."

"Because you're a prejudiced ponce--!"

Tom glared and yanked on the few strands that had remained wound around his fingers, jerking Harry forward. Tom ignored the snarl Harry gave him. "I do not want to be a blood-sucker, brat. And immortality..." Tom finally released the remaining hair and flicked his fingers airily, a shoulder shrugging. "I find myself wishing for rest."

Harry closed his eyes and clenched his fists. He hated this conversation. They seemed to have it once every few decades, and it never failed to expose every insecurity Harry retained. He opened his eyes to stare down at his shaking fists instead of into the tired eyes of the man he loved more than anything in his existence.

"But that is neither here nor there, brat, so stop dwelling. I have aged all of twenty years in the last two hundred. I doubt I will die within any reasonable amount of time. And in the meantime, I wish to leave – go somewhere new. I have been stuck in Britain for too many years. What do you say to a change of scenery? Something tropical, perhaps?"

Harry could only exhale, a smile tugging at his lips. "Well... why not?"

* * *

I love you all.

Article Credits:

**Nimohtar** - _Nathan Gainsborough_ and _Gordon Stetherwright_

**Venestra**_ - Skylin Providence_

**Yuuki Toshi**_ - Yuuki Toshi_

**Raine Ishida**_ – Rita Skeeter and Cassandra Crimsonchin_

I have just posted the first chapter to all my current projects, as placeholders for those of you who expressed interest after last chapter's tease of them. They may not be really continued right now, but at least this way you can Alert them and not have to check back to see when I actually take them up (which, to save angst like there was with Para, will be when I am at least halfway if not all of the way done). So check the ending A/N's from last chapter to see if you were interested in any of them.

I'm... heartbroken now, with this ending. It was one hell of a ride, loves. Thank you again for giving me this amazing experience; I don't deserve you all. I hope I paid back with this story. Love. *blows a kiss or twenty*

Search for my penname on Facebook if you have it, I'd love to keep in touch. :)

**~~▫ộ» Mischief Managed «ộ▫~~**


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